


Together & Apart

by chellerrific



Series: Girls’ Night Out [4]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: DIY Superheroes, Female Friendship, Gen, POV Multiple, Sleepovers at Mount Justice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellerrific/pseuds/chellerrific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Collision

**Author's Note:**

> Holy new season, Batman! Every time a new episode airs, I alternate between, “I swear I had no idea where they were going with this,” and “man, it is so obvious I have no idea where they’re going with this.” Welp, such is fanfiction. I hope that it’s read in the spirit in which it was written!

**BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS  
JANUARY 8, 01:19 EST**

“Remind me again what it is we’re waiting for?” Bette Kane asked. She was lying on her back, staring up at the sky and twirling her curly blond hair around her index finger.

“You’ll see,” Barbara Gordon replied, watching the streets below through her binoculars.

Several more long minutes passed in silence. Bette was glad it had been a warm day in Boston, because at least it meant she wasn’t lying in the snow. Of course, that also meant she had nothing to do up there on the rooftop, not even make snow angels.

“There. Look. See anything interesting?”

Bette sighed and rolled over onto her stomach, taking the binoculars from Barbara. “Babs, you dirty dog. We drove all the way to Boston to spy on someone having some kind of back alley booty call?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Barbara said, snatching the binoculars back. “It’s not _what_ they’re doing, it’s _who’s_ doing it. Don’t you recognize the man?”

“Not from this angle, and frankly I’m a little concerned that you _do_.”

“It’s Floyd Lawton.”

That surprised Bette. She grabbed the binoculars again and peered down at the couple below. “Are you sure? Isn’t he supposed to be in jail?”

“Supposed to be,” Barbara said. “He’s been AWOL for over a week now.” She was grinning broadly as she spoke. Bette was put in mind of a cat that had just caught its prey with a final successful pounce.

“How did you find him?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Barbara said. “But then it dawned on me: _cherchez la femme_. Come on. We’re not going to catch him much more vulnerable than this.” Before Bette could even get to her feet, Barbara was already on her way down the side of the building.

In the weeks since they had become costumed superheroes, Barbara had become quite the little spider monkey—in a climbing and swinging way, not in a flinging poo way. Bette had silently turned it into a competition. She had the superior gymnastics training. There was no way she was going to let Barbara outstrip her in agility that easily.

Despite starting second, Bette hit the ground half a second before Barbara. She mentally added another point to her own column.

Barbara removed a pair of _bolas_ from her utility belt and helicoptered them over her head to work up momentum. As soon as she released them, Bette sprinted after, using a series of handsprings to build up her own momentum. When the _bolas_ hit Lawton just below the knees, Bette pivoted in midair, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him down on top of his paramour.

Bette only had about a split-second to applaud herself on that excellent maneuver when the woman with Lawton pushed him off and got to her feet like nothing had happened. Bette took a fighting stance while Barbara caught up and began to hogtie Lawton.

“You don’t want to do this,” the woman said.

Bette thought she was sort of pretty, in a person-who-would-hook-up-in-an-alley kind of way. She was really tall, and about half of that was leg. Her hair was thick and curled into perfect silky ringlets, but it was snow-white, which didn’t really go very well with her complexion and added unnecessary years to her appearance. Also her weird drapey hooded robe thing did _nothing_ for her figure. But she had a killer beauty mark just under her right eye that she was totally working.

“Lady, I’ve been waiting all day to do this,” Bette told her.

That was when the woman punched her in the stomach and sent her flying back down the alley. If it hadn’t been so painful, Bette would have thought it was very cool and action movie-like. As it was, she hit the ground hard, and she was pretty sure she would be developing bruises in places that would make it hard to sit down comfortably for a while.

The woman didn’t follow up her attack, though, and Bette knew she must have gone after Barbara. So this lady was a lot stronger than they’d been expecting. It was still two on one.

Barbara was focusing mostly on evading and avoiding. Bette couldn’t blame her; getting hit hurt. Then she realized that she was trying to move the woman away from the alley and out into the street—away from Lawton.

Bette knew from previous encounters that Lawton was essentially always armed, usually with hand guns but sometimes with even heavier-duty stuff. She thought Barbara could handle herself for a minute while she disarmed Lawton. A punch hurt, but a bullet to the chest would be a lot worse.

“Hooking up in an alley while you’re supposed to be on the run from the law? Seriously, who does that?” Bette tutted while she patted him down.

“She does,” Lawton growled.

“Classy,” Bette said. Once she was sure Lawton was unarmed, she emptied the three guns of bullets (Barbara had made her learn how to do that before the new year), then chucked the guns as hard as she could. Two of them caught on nearby fire escapes; the third, she was pretty sure, actually made it onto a roof. Bette made a fist to show off her arm muscles, honed through years of gymnastics and tennis, to Lawton. “Now that’s what I call a gun show.”

Someone screamed. It took Bette only a split second to realize it wasn’t Barbara, and a fraction longer for her to realize something was terribly, terribly wrong.

She fell to her knees, clawing at her ears without even realizing it. She wanted to rip her own face off, anything to stop the noise. Behind her eyelids there was the glint of something sharp. She tried to get away, but she knew she wasn’t going to be able to avoid the axe coming at her head.

The scream cut off abruptly, and just as suddenly Bette was aware of her surroundings again. Floyd Lawton was nearby, still tied up but now unconscious. (Had she done that? She didn’t remember knocking him out.)

There was no time to waste wondering. She ran for the street where she found Barbara and the woman—or at least, something that resembled a cross between the woman and a life-size version of the lady who told you to hurry back and be sure to bring your death certificate at the end of the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. Whatever this woman was, it wasn’t human. Suddenly Bette wished that Lawton had been alone, even if it meant catching him with his pants on. She’d rather face a couple of loaded six-shooters than _Night of the Living Dead_.

Barbara was on the ground, getting to her feet slowly. She was bleeding from her nose and Bette didn’t have to ask to know she’d taken a hard hit there.

But what really caught Bette’s attention were the two other people in the street with her. One of them looked like a blond teenage girl version of Superman, which was a really weird thought for a few reasons, and the other was dressed in some kind of bumblebee suit. The girl Superman was going hand-to-hand with the creepy undead woman, pummeling her with punches and taking as many in return without flinching. The bee girl was flying around with the help of a pair of wings on her back, shooting what looked like little electric zaps at the woman.

The undead woman opened her mouth to scream, and the piercing sound caused all four girls to stumble. Bette knew immediately she’d been the one to emit that incapacitating noise just a moment ago, because she was starting to see the exact same images.

By the time the noise stopped and Bette recovered, the girl Superman was already on her feet, helping the bee girl up, and the undead woman was gone—along with Lawton.

“She grabbed the guy and got away before I had time to react,” the girl Superman said. Her blond hair was long and straight, which made Bette more than a little jealous; no matter how much product she used on it, _her_ hair always stubbornly stayed at least a little wavy. The other blond’s eyes were a bright electric blue, clear and sharp, and she looked at Bette with the same undisguised curiosity Bette was feeling.

The girl in the bee suit was black, with natural hair tied in two buns on either side of her head. Bette thought it was cute in a middle school kind of way. She had gorgeous pouty lips and heavy-lidded dark eyes, though, and Bette could tell she was a real stunner when not in that dorky costume.

Barbara used one gloved hand to staunch the blood coming out of her nose. “Right. And who are you? Some kind of Superman fangirl?”

“Look who’s talking, Bat-ginger,” the bee girl shot back.

“I’m K—Superman’s cousin,” the blond said quickly. “Are you a friend or relative of the Batman?”

“I hope not,” said the bee girl, folding her arms across her chest. “Batman would’ve cried if he’d seen how bad they just did.”

Bette thought this was more than unfair. Sure they hadn’t done great against the creepy woman, but clearly these other girls hadn’t seen her performance with Lawton in the alley. She’d been smoother than peanut butter. The smooth kind, even.

“Forgive my friend,” Superman’s “cousin” went on. “She hasn’t been having a spectacular day.”

“Neither have we, really,” Bette said amiably, opting to go the debutante route. Her mother would be so disappointed if she allowed the poor attitudes of others to cause her to be impolite. “I’m Flamebird, and this is Batgirl. What do you go by? Supergirl?”

“Supergirl, Batgirl,” the bee repeated. “What is this, the Justice League cheerleading squad?”

Bette could tell by the look in Barbara’s eyes that she was more than a little pissed off, but Barbara wasn’t one for ranting and raving. She just ignored both of these strange girls, turning on her heel and stalking off into the night.

“I better follow her. She’ll walk all the way back to Gotham City otherwise,” Bette said. “It was nice meeting you, Supergirl, uh… Bumblebee girl.” She ran after Barbara without waiting for a response.

“I’m not a bumblebee!” the bee girl shouted after.

“Ba—Batgirl, wait!” Bette called.

But, impossibly, Barbara had vanished. Bette looked up, scanning the rooftops for signs of a shadow moving among them. There was nothing.

Bette got on her Vespa and drove around the back alleys, calling out for Babs. But after several minutes without so much as a sign of anyone else, Bette started to get worried. She tried calling Barbara’s phone, but there was no answer.

Bette tried to shrug it off. Barbara could take care of herself. She probably had left her phone on silent and gone off to have a sulk. Bette would keep trying to call but there was no point in hanging around this area. Still, it seemed pretty rude to drive all the way back to Gotham City alone and leave Babs without a ride. Her parents would never notice if she didn’t come home for the night. Besides, there was a place in town she knew she could crash.


	2. Collateral Damage

**METROPOLIS, NEW YORK  
JANUARY 8, 02:27 EST**

Karen Beecher was fully aware of what a complete jerk she’d been, but after the day she’d had, it was a little hard for her to give much of a damn. It started off with a fight with her boyfriend, Mal Duncan, who had, as a general rule, always been pretty laid-back about the fact that his girlfriend had a full life outside of him. The problem he was having was that in the last few months, that life had gotten a lot more full, and apparently, she was blowing him off constantly anymore. Karen honestly hadn’t realized she’d been doing it, which, according to Mal, was part of the problem.

Karen had tried to be understanding—when she thought about it, she realized he was right, really; she _hadn’t_ been making any time for him—but she found herself aggravated instead. Unfortunately she couldn’t explain to Mal what her newest commitments were, training with Batman in self-defense and occasionally running errands at his whim as exams of sorts. She couldn’t explain that she’d invented and built a suit in her garage that gave her superpowers and the bad guys not only had decided they wanted it for themselves but also knew her real identity. So she’d had to tell him there were _things_ going on and she was sorry but they weren’t _optional_ things.

Unsurprisingly, this hadn’t satisfied Mal in the least, and they’d parted ways for the day on bad terms. She hated that.

Then there had been the actual training with Batman, which had become nothing but a chore. When Superman had told her she was going to learn self-defense from Batman, it had sounded _exciting_. As it turned out, though, she had little interest in martial arts, and Batman wasn’t exactly the kind of guy of who accepted wandering attention. She remembered with annoyance their conversation that day after her friend, Superman’s superpowered cousin Kara Kent, had slammed her on the mat for the tenth time in as many minutes, using some kind of judo throw she was supposed to know the name of but didn’t.

“Karen, I’m starting to get the impression this isn’t really your forte,” Batman had observed dryly.

“No idea what makes you think that,” Karen had groaned from the mat. Kara was getting better at not using her super strength when they were sparring, but it still knocked the wind out of Karen every time.

“You’re not doing yourself or Kara any favors by not giving it your all.”

“Couldn’t I just build a robot to do it for me? ‘Attack, Fu Bot!’”

“This is no joking matter. For some reason, Scandal Savage and Knockout want your suit. They may not be the only ones. You need to at the very least know basic self-defense.”

“I know basic self-defense. Scream, punch them in the boob, and run like hell.”

“If you’re not going to take a serious interest in keeping yourself alive, I don’t see why I should, either.”

Then Kara had cut in with a suggestion about a training montage set to a self-positive rock song, which would inevitably lead to Karen triumphing over Batman in single combat and finally earning his respect and admiration. She hadn’t been joking, either. Kara watched a lot of films.

Basically Batman was a hardass and Karen was kind of over him and his ridiculous cowl.

And of course, when she’d gotten home she’d found her little brother Victor had been reading her diary. Granted, it wasn’t a _real_ diary; if Karen had felt the need to keep such a thing, it wouldn’t be in a book that just anybody could pick up and read. The “diary” was really an experiment to see how long it would take for Vic to help himself to it and then what he would do with the fake information inside. The results had been fairly predictable (respectively, “not long” and “tell everyone”). When she’d explained to her parents that it wasn’t a real diary, they said they didn’t know why she was so upset, then, and reminded her that she wasn’t supposed to experiment on her brother, which in her opinion meant they missed the point _entirely_.

So of course, by the time Kara had gotten in touch with her that evening telling her Batman wanted them to go to Boston for some reason, Karen was pretty well ready to tell Batman where he could stick it. But she’d gone, for Kara’s sake, and been a jerk to complete strangers who really didn’t deserve it, and basically by the time they got back to Metropolis she was in a worse mood than ever.

When they entered Superman’s apartment, which never stopped being a little weird to Karen, Kara’s other cousin and their mutual schoolmate, Conner Kent, was passed out on the sofa, reruns of _Wendy the Werewolf Stalker_ playing on the TV. This was at least the second time they’d come in to that exact sight in the last week. Kara had explained that the relationship between Conner and Superman—“Cousin Kal,” she called him—had gotten a lot warmer recently. While she was still unwilling to give Karen too many details (Karen remained unsure if Conner was Superman’s brother, or son, or something else entirely), she did explain that they’d worked out some kind of issue between the two of them and Conner had started spending a lot more of his free time in Metropolis. She smiled broadly when she said this. Family was important to Kara, and the fact that hers was doing well couldn’t have made her happier.

They shut the door to the apartment a little too loudly. Conner sat up with a start, looking like he was ready to body slam any intruders.

“Hello, Cousin,” Kara said jovially, because the thought of getting attacked by a guy with superpowers didn’t faze her in the slightest. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Kara?” Conner said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Where were you?”

“Boston,” Kara told him, in the same manner one might say, “the corner drug store.” “We met these two girls who were like us!”

“Kryptonian?” Conner asked, clearly not fully awake.

“No, superheroes,” said Kara. “Batgirl and… what did the other one call herself?”

“Flamebird,” Karen supplied.

“Bat _girl_?” Conner repeated. “Never heard of her.”

“She had the same bat on her chest as the Batman,” Kara explained.

“Different chest, though,” Karen couldn’t help adding.

“Cool,” said Conner in a completely flat, no-damns-given tone. “Wait… why were you in Boston?”

“Batman sent us there,” Kara said. “We ran into this woman who was like a… a zombie, kind of. And when she screamed it was painful.”

“Like Black Canary?”

“No,” Karen said. “Not like Black Canary. This was hardcore. It was completely incapacitating. I kept seeing these images like I was about to get my head chopped off with an axe. Kind of disorienting when you’re in the middle of a fist fight.”

Conner blinked at them like he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Weird. Don’t let Black Canary ever hear you say she’s not hardcore, though.”

“Whatever. I’m beat.” Karen pulled off her hood and headed for Kara’s room. “I’m gonna crash for a bit. See you guys later.”

As she walked away, she heard Kara and Conner behind her talking more about the mysterious zombie-woman. It must have been nice being a member of a superhero family you could have actual conversations with about this stuff.

She was supposed to have told her parents about everything. Superman had all but ordered her to. But she hadn’t. It was too strange, too complicated, too likely to elicit frowns and reprimands. Frankly at this point she kind of just wanted to throw her hands in the air and say _ENOUGH_. All she’d wanted to do was build a cool suit. She hadn’t intended to get tied up with superheroes and supervillains and midnight combat.

It’s not that there wasn’t anything rewarding about it. There was. Seeing the suit she’d built herself in action was amazing. And helping people did really feel good too. But she was Karen Beecher. She was a a high school student, a scientist, a cheerleader—“vigilante” just didn’t seem to fit on that list.

If she was completely honest, it probably rubbed her the wrong way because she didn’t have a choice in the matter. She hadn’t asked to be a target of supervillain machinations. She hadn’t asked to get beaten up by her friend several times a week while a grown man in a cape glared at her and quipped sardonically about how good at falling down she’d gotten.

She took out her phone to check the time and saw she’d missed a text from Mal. _hey babe can we talk_. The time stamp was from almost five hours ago. Great. He probably thought she was ignoring him. She’d text him back in the morning and tell him she hadn’t realized her battery had died or something.

For now, she turned off her phone, changed out of her uncomfortable suit and into something easier to sleep in, and crawled into Kara’s bed. She thought she’d be too irritated to sleep, but she was out before her head hit the pillow.


	3. Unanswered

**GOTHAM CITY, CONNECTICUT  
JANUARY 8, 02:41 EST**

“If you’ll pardon my saying so, sir, you look a bit worse for the wear.”

“She maced me before I was able to subdue her.”

There was a laugh, which was quickly turned into a cough.

Barbara slowly opened her eyes, but everything was still black. There was something over her head, a bag or something. She was sitting upright on a chair, her hands tied behind her back, her feet tied at the ankles. There was a slight mental fog and the voices of the speakers she heard were deadened like her ears were stuffed with cotton, both of which were probably the result of whatever drugs were used on her, but she felt otherwise unharmed. She couldn’t be completely sure in her current position, though.

She tried to find if she could wiggle her fingers enough to reach something, _anything_ , in her belt, and that was when she realized her belt was gone. Of course.

She took a deep breath and tried to assess the situation. She had no idea how many people might be with her, but there were at least two men. She’d taken out more before… but then, she hadn’t been tied to a chair with a bag on her head at the time. She’d have to at least get the bag off. She stayed perfectly still and set her breathing back to steady and even, hoping that they wouldn’t notice she’d regained consciousness. It was the absolutely only advantage that she had on anyone.

She was relatively certain wherever they were was indoors, somewhere big and spacious. Why did things always have to go down in abandoned warehouses? She could just hear a noise that sounded like typing—maybe it wasn’t so abandoned. (She kept trying to pop her ears, but it was to no avail.) If she tipped her head forward slightly, she could see out the bottom of the bag to her lap, which looked like it was reflecting the glow of some kind of monitor or screen. Barbara had never really had much of a reason to learn computer hacking before, but she’d started picking up some basic skills since she’d first put on her costume as Batgirl. She had a high learning curve too. While she knew her first priority at the moment was to get out of wherever she was to somewhere safe, the thought of perhaps finding her way back and getting into the computer system here was already budding in her mind. She had zero expectations about what she might find on it, but it had to be _something_.

“ _Bolas_ ,” the deeper of the two voices said. “Rattan sticks. A half-empty can of mace.”

Barbara felt annoyance creep up her body. He was inventorying her belt.

“What’s this, sir?” This was the second voice, the one with the English accent.

“A tracking device,” the first replied. “And this is a bug. Both WayneTech. They look like they’ve been taken apart and put back together again, though.”

That was probably because they had been, Barbara didn’t say.

“Caltrops. A Taser. Ha!”

“Pardon, sir? Is something funny?”

“Malodorant. Not bad. Still amateur, though.” He let out a sigh.

“Can she breathe under that, sir?”

“Of course.” Footsteps signaled his approach. Barbara carefully prepared herself to move as soon as the bag was off.

Light and air flooded in and she was on her feet, swinging her body around to use the chair as a battering ram. Her assailant reacted faster than she would have thought possible, though, catching the side of the chair and completely unbalancing her with one hand. It was embarrassing and infuriating.

That wasn’t the worst part, though: her captor was Batman.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, setting the chair firmly on the ground again. He was speaking a bit loudly and enunciating carefully. “Can you hear me?”

She glared at him and didn’t answer. As soon as he’d taken the bag off she’d realized her cowl was missing too, and she was too irritated by this whole situation to want to play nice.

“I’m not your enemy,” he said.

She allowed herself to scoff openly at that.

While he spoke, she tried to surreptitiously scan the room. It was some kind of cave. A bat in a cave. What a tool. Still, the computer system behind him was no joke. A WayneTech logo flashed on the monitor as a screen saver.

And that was when the penny dropped. Batman was Bruce Wayne.

The English man calling him “sir”—she couldn’t hear very well, it was true, but she was still a complete moron for not tumbling sooner to the fact that that was Alfred, Bruce’s butler. How many other people in New England had English butlers calling them “sir”? Probably not many.

Barbara kept her expression carefully blank, but inside she was cursing up a storm. How could she not have guessed sooner? She’d just had Christmas dinner with the man not three weeks before. Did her father know? He had to, whatever he said to the contrary.

A voice came on over some kind of intercom. “Batman. Superman just sent a message about the double Ks’ mission. You’ll want to see this.”

Batman pushed a button on a console nearby and said, “Understood. And shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I am. I’m just not asleep.”

“Go to sleep, and that’s an order.”

“Dick Grayson, I am going to kick your sorry ass six ways to Sunday!” Barbara blurted out. She wasn’t normally the kind of person who lost her cool in a tense situation, but frankly, she couldn’t see how letting Dick know she was there could possibly make things worse, if he didn’t already. Mostly, though, threatening him made her feel a little better.

Bruce sighed, and there was a long pause on the other end before Dick finally said carefully, “Babs?” So apparently he hadn’t known.

“No, Charles Townsend,” she snapped. She’d been told she tended to get sarcastic when she was mad. Maybe this was true.

“I’m coming down,” Dick said.

“Dick, don’t—” Bruce sighed again. He reached up and pulled off his cowl. “Barbara, listen—”

“I don’t think I will,” Barbara said. “If only for the fact that whatever drugs you gave me when you assaulted and kidnapped me have made it hard to hear.”

Barbara had always liked Bruce, which frankly just pissed her off even more. She’d trusted this man and he repaid her like this.

“That will wear off in short order. And Barbara, I understand that you’re angry.”

“Oh, I’m angry? Whatever gave you that impression? I love it when people tie me to chairs and go through my belongings. It’s my favorite thing. I was about to thank you. Thanks, Mr. Wayne. I’ve always admired what a philanthropist you are. Giving out scholarships, taking in orphans, and, apparently, kidnapping teenage girls. That last one you don’t hear about on the news so much, and I wonder why? Shouldn’t the community know about all the valuable services you provide? Come now, there’s no need to be so modest.”

She was ranting and she knew it, but it was like someone had opened the floodgates. Meanwhile Bruce just stood there, stony-faced, and listened.

“Also, I’m really glad to have this opportunity to thank you for all the crimes you leave unsolved and all the criminals you leave uncaught. Because I mean, really. If you actually used all your resources and stayed on top of things, the police would have nothing left to do, wouldn’t they? So thanks on behalf of my father for deigning to let him keep his job. You are a prince among men, truly. A scholar and a gentleman. A _mensch_ , even.”

When she paused to take a breath, he said, “Are you finished?”

“For the moment,” she said. She was feeling a bit dizzy.

That was when Dick appeared. He was fully-dressed but disheveled, and Barbara knew he must have stopped to throw on the first clothes he could find.

“Uh. Hi,” he said awkwardly. He turned to Bruce. “Does she really need to be tied up?”

“Until she calms down, yes,” Bruce said.

“Bruce, she’s not going to hit you.”

“Yes I am,” Barbara said, seeing no point in denying it.

“Not helping your case here, Babs.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m the one at fault in this situation.”

Bruce folded his arms over his chest. “Actually, you are. What are you playing at, Barbara? I thought you were smarter than this.”

Barbara hated statements like that. There was no good way to answer them.

“Diving headfirst into situations that could easily get you killed, unarmed, without backup—”

“I was armed. And I had backup.”

“Bette Kane?” Dick cocked his head. “Not sure she really counts.”

Barbara refused to acknowledge that he was right about her partner’s identity. “And here I am, still alive,” she said pointedly to Bruce.

“Tied to a chair without any hope of rescue,” he added.

“I could get out of here if I wanted to,” she said.

“Bluff harder, Babs,” Dick muttered.

“Not to mention you went ahead and made yourself a target for any of my enemies who might decide to settle a vendetta against me through someone they think is affiliated with me,” Bruce went on, jabbing a finger at the bat on her chest. “Think I want that on my conscious?”

She resisted the urge to say _boohoo poor pitiful you_. “Lucky for both of us, then, that didn’t happen. I’m fine.”

“November 12. How were you going to get out of that situation?”

“Hypotheticals are pointless,” Barbara said. “I got out of it. It’s meaningless to play the what-if game.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong. You can never be one hundred percent sure how a given situation will play out. You can only know the possibilities beforehand, and you had better know damn well how you’re going to handle each and every one of them.”

Barbara held his gaze steadily. “I got out of it.”

“By luck only. December 9.”

She had to pause to remember what had happened on December 9. “Got out of that too,” she said.

“You still don’t even know who it was who helped you, do you?” Bruce pointed out.

“Do you?” she challenged.

“Not exactly.” He walked over to the computer monitor and began typing. He pulled up a brief loop of video footage, dark and heavily-shadowed. It showed a small figure, hooded and caped, running along a rooftop and then disappearing over the side. “This is the only footage I have of that person. I have a few leads to follow up on, but he’s not as easy to identify as you were.”

Barbara ignored that jab. “Can I at least call people so they know I’m not dead? Unless you took the time to explain why you were kidnapping me, that is.”

“Come on, Bruce,” Dick said.

Bruce heaved a sigh and said, “Fine. Untie her.” He walked over to the table where the contents of Barbara’s belt were laid out and picked up her phone, bringing it back over to her as Dick finished freeing her hands.

She socked Bruce across the jaw. It was like hitting a brick wall and probably hurt her hand more than it did his face, but she felt better. Then she took the phone and thanked him before calling Bette’s cell.


	4. Reality

**BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS  
JANUARY 8, 03:03 EST**

It had been seven years since Bette Kane had last seen her cousin. Katherine Kane had decided to follow in the footsteps of her father, Bette’s uncle Colonel Jacob Kane, enrolling at West Point at seventeen. At nineteen, Kate was expelled after being outed as a lesbian, at which time she moved to Boston. Bette had no idea what she was doing nowadays. She only had her address because her parents still sent her the family’s annual Christmas card.

Bette also had no idea how Kate would react to her turning up on her doorstep in the middle of the night, but they’d been close as kids, despite their age difference of nearly ten years. Kate had been something of an older sister to Bette. She knew how Bette’s parents were—or maybe more accurately, how they weren’t. It had devastated Bette when Kate had gone to New York for college, and hurt even worse when she hadn’t come back to Gotham City after her expulsion.

Still, that was water under the bridge as far as Bette was concerned. Living in the past had never really been her style. Kate must have had her reasons for losing touch. Getting expelled couldn’t have been easy on her, especially given the reason.

Bette hesitated at the door to Kate’s condo. It was so rude to show up out of the blue like this, not to mention at this hour—even if Kate was family. Kate had always been there for her when she was little, though, and she hoped her cousin would understand now.

Finally, she rang the bell.

When no one answered, she thought about leaving. Instead, she rang the bell twice more.

She was about to give up and go when at last the door opened. On the other side was a woman. Bette knew two things about her instantly: she had clearly just been woken up, and she clearly was not Kate. She was Latina, with short messy dark hair and dark eyes with a look in them that suggested she might do Bette harm if Bette didn’t have a very good reason for being there.

“I’m sorry, I—I’m looking for Katherine Kane, and this is the address I have for her,” Bette said, as quickly and politely as she could.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Yes, ma’am, and I realize this is terribly ill-mannered of me, but I’m Katherine’s cousin Mary Elizabeth and it’s kind of an emergency.”

The woman sighed. “Come in. Kate! Kate, wake up.”

Bette stepped inside. The place wasn’t as luxurious as either of the Kane mansions in Gotham City, but it was still very nice. The decoration was very definitely “Kate,” practical, no frills, but comfortable and tasteful. There was a baby grand piano in the main room, which made Bette smile. Kate was an amazing pianist. She’d been playing since she had the motor skills. Bette scanned the few photos perched on top of the piano. Most of them were of Kate and the woman who’d answered the door. Bette had assumed she was Kate’s roommate, but now it dawned on her belatedly that Kate didn’t need the financial assistance of a roommate and wasn’t the type to have one “just because.” Obviously the woman was Kate’s girlfriend. Partner. Fiancée? _Significant other_.

“Betty? What’s wrong? Did something happen in Gotham?” Kate stumbled into the room, looking as awake as someone could at three in the morning.

“No, no, everything’s fine. It’s just… I was in the area with a friend and we got separated and I needed a place to… I’m really sorry about dropping in on you like this.”

Kate blinked a few times, clearing the sleep from her eyes. She frowned. There was a sinking feeling in Bette’s stomach. Of course it wasn’t okay.

“I’ll just go. I shouldn’t have come.” Bette felt so embarrassed. Embarrassment had to be her least favorite feeling in the world, and she usually managed to avoid it. But it was clear Kate’s opinion still mattered very much to her, even after all these years. For more than half her life she’d considered Kate her closest—sometimes her only _real_ —family.

“Betty, no, stop. Don’t be stupid. Sit down. Tell me what’s going on. Why are you wandering around Boston at this hour?”

“Ah,” said Bette. She hadn’t thought through an excuse on the ride over. That was the sort of thing she usually left up to Babs. “It’s a long story.”

“Don’t give me that. You woke me up. Sit down.” This time she took Bette by the shoulders and steered her onto the couch. “This is Renee, by the way. Renee, Betty.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Bette said. Renee responded with a half-hearted hand-raise and a yawn.

“Okay so. Start at the beginning.”

Bette hesitated. When she finally spoke, she said, “I’m a costumed crime fighter. My, uh, partner and I came to Boston on a… I don’t know, some kind of information she had, she doesn’t really tell me more than I need to know. We were leaving the scene after we, you know, took care of business, so to speak, and she kind of… vanished. Now she’s not answering her phone and she’s pretty tough but she’s also thirteen and kind of tiny and I really can’t help being worried about her.”

Well. As far as cover stories went, she could probably have come up with better.

“So yeah. That… happened. It’s good to see you again, by the way.”

“Betty, I’m pretty sure this is not one fraction as funny as you think it is,” Kate said, thoroughly unimpressed.

“No, I’m completely serious! Look, here’s my costume.” She pulled a corner of fabric out of her bag. She and Babs always brought a change of clothes along with them. She still had Babs’ with her, though. “I go by Flamebird. My partner is Batgirl.”

“Batgirl?” Kate raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. You know, like Batman, but… a girl.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Kate said, clearly still skeptical. “And when exactly did this happen?”

“Couple months ago I guess,” Bette said. “We haven’t really made much of a splash yet, all though I did tackle Harley Quinn to the ground. That was pretty badass.” She decided to end the story before getting to the part where she’d spent Christmas sick and a little high on the fumes from one of Harley’s smoke bombs.

“So, what? Bruce is running some kind of teenybopper vigilante recruitment program now?”

“Bruce?”

“Bruce Wayne. Batman.”

Bette’s jaw went slack. “You… Bruce Wayne… how…”

“I’m not an idiot, Betty. It’s not hard to put two and two together if you actually know Bruce.”

Kate’s branch of the Kane family was the more prominent one, and they’d been fairly close with the Waynes. Bette had only met Bruce Wayne in person once, when she was about six years old. She had enough presence of mind to be glad Babs wasn’t there to take Kate’s statement as an insult, though, since Bette was pretty sure Babs had no idea Bruce and Bats were one and the same.

Bette’s phone rang, making her jump. “Oh thank goodness,” she said when she looked at the screen and saw Babs—or at least someone using Babs’ phone—was the one calling. “It’s B—Batgirl. Do you mind if I take this?”

Kate sighed and made a “go ahead” gesture.

“Babs, oh my gosh, what the heck happened back there? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m back in Gotham City.”

“What? How could you be there already?”

“I’ll explain later. I just wanted to let you know I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere. I didn’t mean to leave like that, trust me.” Babs sounded annoyed, and Bette could picture her glare perfectly.

“Is there a man there with a gun to your head making you say all this? Just nod yes if so.”

“Seriously. I’m fine. Do you have a place to stay? I’m pretty sure my _host_ will help you out if you don’t.”

“No, I—I’ve got somewhere. Babs, tell me what’s going on.”

“Like I said, I’ll explain later. Just get some sleep and I’ll see you later.” And then she hung up.

Bette stared at her phone.

“Well?” Kate prompted.

“She said she’s fine but she wouldn’t tell me anything else,” Bette said absently.

“All right. Problem solved then. You can take the couch, or there’s a guest bedroom upstairs on the left. As I have to be up for work in, oh… three hours, I’m going back to bed. Good night, Betty.”

As Kate and Renee retreated down the hall, Bette heard Renee remark, “Nah. I still think my family’s worse.”

Bette sat on the couch, unsure what to do with herself. It wasn’t exactly the reunion she’d pictured. Maybe the bond she thought they’d had as kids had been entirely in her head.

She hated feeling this alone, but she was also pretty sure she ought to have been used to it.


	5. Discarded

**GATEWAY CITY, MASSACHUSETTS  
JANUARY 13, 12:36 EST**

“Strike three! You’re out!”

Traya Sutton sat back with a sigh and watched as her clearly annoyed friend, Cissie King-Jones, thrust the bat into the hands of the next batter and stalked over to sit next to her in the dugout.

“That wasn’t so bad. Everybody was so busy watching you that Jesse was able to steal second,” said Traya, pointing at their teammate, Jesse Chambers, who flashed her a thumbs up. “And hey, you held onto the bat this time!”

Three days later, Holly Granger was still sporting a black eye and still only using the word “accident” with airquotes.

“This game is stupid,” Cissie said for the hundredth time.

Traya had only known Cissie for a little over a month, but that was long enough to know that Cissie hated anything in which she didn’t naturally excel. Frankly, Traya had no idea _why_ Cissie was so bad at baseball. She was an amazing archer, and theoretically, the same principles should have applied, but when Traya started talking about trajectories and wind speed, Cissie’s eyes glazed over like Traya was reciting Shakespeare in ancient Greek. Cissie wasn’t a “principles” person. She was a “her mother made her practice and practice and practice from the age of three until she could shoot the wings off a fly at three hundred yards” person. And for whatever reason, any skills she’d picked up in the process simply didn’t transfer to baseball.

Actually, Traya was convinced Cissie would be a fantastic pitcher (there was no way her fastball wouldn’t be killer), but nobody was willing to let her try after seeing her bat. They were sixth graders at the St. Elias School for Girls, anyway, and since their team was composed of all grades, the sixth graders were generally just sent to the outfield with little direction more than “don’t get in the way.” This infuriated Cissie—not on her behalf, but on Traya’s. While it was true that, objectively, Traya never failed to catch a ball that came her direction, and her throws were always perfect (she understood trajectories and wind speed), she was quite content in the outfield for now. Admittedly, their team wasn’t very well-managed, but she honestly didn’t care about winning, and it was nice to stand back and be able to analyze the game from a distance. Traya preferred not drawing attention to herself anyway. She was Bialyan by ancestry and birth, and not all her classmates were as open-minded about this as Cissie was.

Still, someday they’d be upperclassmen, and then she could call the shots, and she would know better than to put a left-handed player on second base or to keep someone with as much power as Jesse Chambers out of the hot corners. As far as she was concerned, this was less about increasing their chances of winning and more about doing what made sense. The way the team looked now was the same as playing football and putting someone with a tackle build in the position of receiver, or playing basketball and positioning the shortest player as the center. It was just silly.

Cissie snapped Traya out of her sports reverie with a jab of her elbow to Traya’s ribs. “Is it just me or is Ms. Bertinelli staring at us?”

“You’re staring at her,” Traya pointed out.

“Only because she was staring at us first.”

“Cissie, are you seriously having a staring contest with our new headmistress?”

The woman in question, a tall, trim Italian-American with black wavy hair and dark eyes behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses, smiled warmly at Cissie and Traya, then turned her attention back to the game.

“Nope. I _won_ a staring contest with our new headmistress.”

“I don’t understand what you have against her. You barely know her, and she seems nice,” Traya said.

“Jeannette seemed nice, too, until she turned into the Queen of the Undead and tried to kill us.”

“What are the odds we get two headmistresses in a row who want to kill us? I mean really.”

“I don’t know, Traya, what _are_ the odds? And how do they stack up against the odds of us having even _one_ headmistress who wants to kill us?”

“Well… they’re much smaller.”

“You’re a real math genius, you know that,” Cissie said, rolling her eyes.

Traya caught the sarcasm, which she felt was unfair since the statement was technically true. “I’m pretty sure Ms. Bertinelli doesn’t want to kill us. I feel fairly confident they’d be a little more careful about who they hired this time. Besides, don’t you think Greta would have come to warn us?”

Greta was another friend, a ghost who had shown up at St. Elias in December to tell Cissie that their previous headmistress had a hidden agenda that involved the two of them. Neither Cissie nor Traya had seen her since the last time they saw Jeannette.

“Maybe Greta doesn’t know. Or maybe she _can’t_ warn us,” Cissie said, biting her lip.

Traya didn’t respond. The thought that Greta might be gone forever had certainly crossed her mind more than once, but she didn’t like to think about it. She didn’t have enough data on the true nature of ghosts to draw a conclusion and everything else was fruitless worrying.

She couldn’t help missing Greta, though.

By the time the game was over, they’d lost badly, eliminating their team from the school competition. Cissie was celebrating harder than the winners, eliciting dark looks from their own teammates.

“What?” Cissie said. “It’s not my _fault_ we lost. Nobody was where they should have been. For example, Jesse’s too hot to be in the middle.”

Traya planted her face in her palm. “Hot _corners_ , Cissie. Jesse shouldn’t be in centerfield when she’d do much better in the _hot corner_.”

Cissie shrugged. As she’d once asked why Traya thought Jesse should be playing hot potato, she probably considered this an improvement.

Traya grabbed her arm and towed her away from the others, back to their room. She was starting to prefer the Cissie she’d first met, the one who avoided others more than anything.

“At least that’s over with,” Cissie said with a sigh as they climbed the creaky stairs inside. “Who has a baseball competition in January anyway?”

“People in the southern hemisphere, maybe,” Traya said. “Anyway, I heard Dawn saying the tournament’s not normally held until May. Ms. Bertinelli must have changed it.”

Cissie snapped her fingers. “I knew it!”

“Knew what?” Traya asked, bemused.

“She’s scouting us, like Jeannette was!”

“Not this again. Well, at least you can take comfort in the knowledge that she won’t be going after you.”

Cissie frowned. “Not funny.”

“I don’t know. I thought it was pretty funny.” Traya grinned and danced away from Cissie’s hand, up the stairs and into their room.

When she opened the door, there was a package sitting on Cissie’s bed. It was fairly flat and rectangular, the sort of box in which clothes were usually wrapped.

“Were you expecting something?” Traya asked.

Cissie’s shoulders sagged. “She didn’t.”

“What? What is it? Did the headmistress secretly send you your father’s old invisibility cloak?”

Cissie tore off the paper without answering. When she pulled off the top of the box, she let out a sigh of sheer exasperation. “She did.”

Traya peered over her shoulder. Sitting in the box was an outfit: a short red and gold top, a loose white miniskirt, red and gold gloves, and a small white cape. Sitting delicately on top was what looked like a red and gold tiara.

“Uh,” was all she could manage.

“My mother,” Cissie said, her face grim. “I _told_ her I didn’t want a stupid costume. Apparently she not only didn’t get that that means I don’t want a costume _at all_ , she had to put together the _stupidest_ one she could manage.” She picked up a red and gold mask with her thumb and forefinger and held it out at arms’ length like it might be toxic.

“It’s not… _so_ bad,” Traya said, which was a lie. “It’s really, um… sparkly?” She attempted a smile, but there was clearly a question mark behind it.

“It’s like… Pageant Archer Barbie. And _not_ in a good way.”

Traya didn’t want to ask what the good version of that was.

“Oh my god. Look.” Cissie held the top up so it caught the light from the window. The sequins reflected it back all over the walls. “It’s a _disco ball_.”

“Maybe… if we took off the sequins… and the gems…”

“Then it’s a neutered disco ball.” She threw it back in the box in disgust. “I’m not wearing that. I’m not even _living_ with that. You wouldn’t happen to have a lighter, would you?”

“What does your mother expect you to do with it, anyway?”

Cissie sat down on the bed next to the box, throwing it a dirty look like its existence was an insult to her. “Remember what Jeannette told us? About ‘Miss Arrowette’?”

Traya opened her mouth to answer, then quickly closed it. “That she might have had a child, aka you, fathered by Green Arrow” was probably not the answer Cissie was looking for.

Cissie continued on her own anyway. “My mother was a ‘D-list non-superhero.’ Looks like now that I know that, she has a new goal in mind for me. She won an Olympic bronze medal and she expects me to win a gold, so I don’t think staying on the D-list is what she has in mind, either.” She looked at the open box for another long moment, then suddenly put the lid back on it, stood up, and dumped the whole thing in the trash. She picked up the new archery case she’d gotten for Christmas and headed for the door. “I’m going down to the range. See you later.”

Traya couldn’t really blame Cissie for being annoyed. After all, she’d met Bonnie King. And it wasn’t fair of her to point out that at least Cissie’s mother was still alive. This wasn’t about Traya, after all.

But she couldn’t stop herself from taking the box out of the trash anyway.


	6. In Motion

**HAPPY HARBOR, RHODE ISLAND  
JANUARY 15, 07:37 EST**

“ _Gooood_ morning, Kara!” Marvin White popped up next to Kara, holding a pink box. “Donut?”

Kara reached in and took a jelly-filled pastry. “Thank you, Marvin. Did you get a haircut?”

Marvin swept a hand through his hair. “Why yes. Yes I did. Thank you for noticing. Did you, uh… brush yours?”

“This morning! How did you know?”

“Ah, I have an eye for that ‘freshly brushed’ look.”

“Ooh, donuts!” Wendy appeared at Marvin’s side and helped herself to one covered in coconut flakes. “Hi, Kara.”

“Hi, Wendy.” Kara smiled. A lot of her classmates hated high school, but she couldn’t understand why. It was a place of social exploration, of knowledge and learning and camaraderie. Sure, it wasn’t all perfect—Kara couldn’t help remembering with some chagrin her disastrous attempt at a date with Marvin shortly after her arrival, but they’d both managed to move past that and things were just fine between them now.

Even Conner seemed happier now that things were better between him and Kal. He seemed relaxed, fuller, like for the first time he actually fit inside his own skin. Kara couldn’t have been more thrilled.

She tried to remember the time she’d spent inside that rock of kryptonite, flying through space but frozen in time. Her ship had still managed to find Kal—her little baby cousin Kal-El, the infant she’d held in her arms what seemed like days before, was a grown man, and world-famous. “Superman.” She’d been sent after him to take care of him, but now he was a full-grown adult. A part of her felt like she’d failed in her mission, but Kal was happy and healthy, and wasn’t that what was important? They were together now.

And Conner had been a happy surprise, even if he hadn’t been her biggest fan at first. Kal was wary of Conner because he was a clone who had been grown without Kal’s knowledge, and Kara had to admit that was probably a little weird. And Conner was wary of Kara because she was full-Kryptonian—as Kal put it, another reminder of what he couldn’t be.

Because Conner was only half-Kryptonian. His other half was human. Neither he nor Kal would talk about the human that made up the other half. It wasn’t someone they were proud to call family, that much was clear.

As far as Kara was concerned, none of that mattered. They were both her cousins. And as far as any of them knew, they were all that was left of Krypton. She wanted to hope, but she’d seen more that day than Kal, and she didn’t have the luxury of being too young to remember everything that had happened. She’d known when she’d gotten on that ship that it was going to be a one-way trip. She’d known that it would most likely be the last time she saw—

“Hey, Kara. You look like you just ate the tuna casserole from the cafeteria.”

With a snap, Kara was back on Earth. “Oh. Good morning, Karen. Hello, Mal.” Even in her distracted state, it didn’t escape Kara’s notice that the two of them were holding hands. She was glad. “No, I was just… worried about the history test today.”

Karen was incredulous. “Give me a break, girl. Whenever you get going on history, I feel like I’m in that episode of _The Simpsons_ where Apu wants to take the citizenship test and he knows way, way more about US history than any of the people who’ve been citizens their whole lives.”

“That’s where I learned about the electrical college,” Mal joked.

Kara was vaguely aware of what they were talking about. She had seen _The Simpsons_ and knew who Apu was, but she hadn’t caught that particular episode yet, so quite a lot of what they said went over her head. She laughed anyway. “You’re right. I shouldn’t worry. Oh, by the way, Karen, are you ready for practice tonight?”

“Practice” was what Karen insisted they refer to “training” as when someone else was around, as, according to her, the former sounded much more innocuous.

“Actually, Kara, I’m not going tonight,” Karen told her. “I’ve got plans with Mal.”

“Coach isn’t going to be happy about that.”

“Coach can deal with it. Besides, I’m working on something that will make practice a whole lot less relevant for me.”

“I… I doubt Coach will see it that way, whatever it is.” Kara furrowed her brow. Was Karen seriously saying she wasn’t going to bother with their training anymore?

“Probably not.” Karen shrugged. “Anyway, I really am sorry for bailing on you.”

“No, it’s all right, I understand.” And Kara did understand. Spending time with Mal was more important to Karen right now. She had never been that invested in their training anyway, and it was easy for Kara to see that she would be unwilling to sacrifice her relationship for the sake of something that was a chore to her. “I’ll give your regards to Coach.”

“Thanks, Kara.” Impulsively, Karen hugged her. “You’re a great friend.”

The bell rang, and everybody began heading towards class.

* * *

**GOTHAM CITY, CONNECTICUT  
JANUARY 15, 16:22 EST**

The Zeta-Beam recognized Kara and admitted her to the Batcave alone that afternoon. When she stepped inside, however, Batman wasn’t by himself, but at his side wasn’t the small boy called Robin she’d met briefly. It was Green Arrow and Black Canary.

“Hello,” Kara said. She’d been introduced to most of the members of the Justice League—she was especially fond of Captain Marvel—but she didn’t know any of them apart from Kal or Batman particularly well. Still, everyone she’d met so far had been at least cordial to her, and Green Arrow and Black Canary both gave her welcoming smiles.

Batman, however, let out a noise that was halfway between a sigh and a growl when he saw Kara was the only one there. “Let me guess: it’s going to be a solo lesson today.”

“Karen’s very sorry, but it was a very important engagement with her boyfriend.” Karen hadn’t actually said she was anything like sorry to _Batman_ , only Kara, but Kara figured that was the kind of embellishment that could only ease the situation.

“Solid priorities,” Green Arrow said with approval. Black Canary elbowed him.

“She said that she was working on her own, though,” Kara went on quickly. This was another half-truth, but again, she bit back her guilt.

“I’m sure she is,” Batman said. “Kara, I was just talking to Black Canary about whether or not she’d like to handle your training. She has more patience and experience with difficult students.”

“Not that you’re difficult,” Black Canary put in. “From everything Batman’s told me, you’re very capable and willing.”

“Right. You mean Karen is difficult.” Kara felt obligated to defend her friend who was not present to defend herself. “Karen’s very smart, especially for an Earthling of her age. And she’s also very… _capable_. It’s simply that she has different strengths. And different priorities. I admire her for knowing what’s important to her and for choosing to focus on it.”

“Call me old-fashioned, but I still tend to prioritize my life over pretty much everything else,” Batman said, unmoved. “At any rate, if it’s all right with you, Karen, and Superman, you can begin training with Black Canary next week. In fact, you might be getting a new classmate.”

Kara perked up at that. “Really? Do you mean Batgirl or Flamebird?”

“No, this girl’s a bit younger,” Green Arrow said. “She’s the daughter of… an old friend of mine.”

“Oh?” Kara was intrigued. She liked the thought of making a new friend, especially one who would be allowed to know who she really was.

Batman folded his arms across his chest. “Yes. I hate to do this after you actually bothered to come down here, but do you mind if we forego training for the day since Karen’s not here? She’s the one who really needs it, not you.”

“Ah… yes, that would be fine,” Kara said with a nod. “I’m sure Karen and Cousin Kal will be satisfied with this change of instructors if you believe it’s what’s best for all parties involved.” She hesitated, then decided to ask anyway. “What about Batgirl and Flamebird? Do they receive training from you?”

“No,” Batman said, the word carrying enough weight to signify that he wasn’t planning on elaborating on it.

“I see. Very well. I’ll be on my way, then. It was very nice seeing you all again, and I look forward to starting lessons with you next week, Ms. Black Canary.”

Black Canary grinned. “Just Canary’s fine. It was nice seeing you too, Kara.”

Kara nodded to her and Green Arrow, then added to Batman, “I’ll have Cousin Kal get in touch after we discuss everything with Karen. Farewell.”

As she headed towards the Zeta-Beam, the three adults behind her resumed their conversation. She could hear every word easily thanks to her Kryptonian hearing, the one of her powers people seemed to forget about most. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but to her, it was unavoidably loud.

“She’s a sweetheart,” Canary said.

“Yes,” Batman agreed. “A bit naïve, but that’s not surprising, given her history. Or her relatives. And she’s a more than capable fighter. It’s Karen I’m worried about. She doesn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation. I’ve tried putting her in serious but manageable confrontations to drive the point home but as long as she has that suit she thinks she’s invincible.”

“Is it really that powerful?” Green Arrow asked.

“It’s impressive, to be sure. Especially given her age and resources. I’ve seen it in action and I understand why even someone like Savage might be interested in it, and especially in the person who built it. But Karen refuses to understand that if she’s caught without it, she’s a sitting duck.” Batman sighed. “Anyway, you two feel free to move on the King girl whenever you think she’s ready. Helena’s watching her in the meantime. I don’t think Jeannette or anyone else will try anything any time soon, especially not with Helena around, but it wouldn’t do any good to let our guard down.”

“There’s something I’m still worried about,” said Canary. “We know about Karen and Suzanne. What if there are others they’ve gone after we don’t know about, ones they’ve done a better job of… finessing? And are you sure it’s okay to leave the other two?”

“The thought has occurred to me, certainly. But for the time being, let’s focus on keeping Karen and the King girl safe. The other two will come around on their own. Trust me, at this juncture any influence I tried to exert would only backfire. And in the meantime I’m tracking Harley’s and Jeannette’s movements as best I can. Knockout and Scandal are, unfortunately, still off the grid, but Knockout never was one for subtlety. She’ll tip her hand soon enough.”

Batman glanced over his shoulder at Kara, who had slowed on her way to the Zeta-Beam. She gave him what she hoped was an innocent wave, then stepped inside, where she was instantly transported back to Metropolis, a lot more than thoughts of a history test on her mind now.


	7. Overdue

**GOTHAM CITY, CONNECTICUT  
JANUARY 18, 12:49 EST**

“You can’t avoid me forever.”

Barbara sighed but didn’t turn. “Wanna bet?”

“C’mon, Babs. Can’t we talk about it?” Dick almost sounded plaintive.

“That’s funny. You wanting to talk. Since you’ve known me for almost five years and never felt the need to say a word before.”

“That’s not fair. You didn’t tell me you were Batgirl either.”

Barbara winced. He had her there. Finally she turned around to face him. “Five years is different from a couple of months.”

“You’re right about that,” said Dick. “You already know me now. I didn’t know you when I first started.”

“You didn’t need me to tell you anyway. How long have you known?”

“Since the beginning,” Dick said. “Come on. Give me a little credit. Even if I hadn’t been raised by the world’s greatest detective, it still wasn’t that hard. Or did you expect me not to notice that right before Batgirl appeared, you took a sudden interest in tracking devices, or right _after_ she appeared, you showed up to school looking like you’d lost a fight with a rabid wood chipper?”

“Yes, well… you should see the wood chipper.”

Dick smiled at that. “So… are we okay?”

Barbara’s shoulders went slack. “I don’t know. I’m still pretty angry.”

“About that whole drugging and kidnapping thing? Yeah, I’ve told Bruce he needs to work on his people skills.”

“I mean about…” Barbara tipped her head back and grimaced. “The fact that the answer was right in front of my face and I never had a clue.”

“Oh. This is one of those projection things. You’re not mad at us; you’re really pissed at _yourself_.”

“Uh, no, I’m still pissed at you and Bruce. But… yeah, I guess I’m not feeling that grand about myself either. I’m supposed to be the smart one.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Bruce has spent years honing misdirection, obfuscation, and general smoke and mirrors. He’s got his own brand of smarts and he’s very good at what he does.”

“I know objectively that what you’re saying is completely true, but I still feel like a chump.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid. Nothing I can do to change it now. And before you ask again, yes, I’m still mad. But I’ll get over it. So. Who exactly knows?”

“That you’re still mad?”

“That you’re Robin,” Barbara said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh. Uh, well. You. Bruce. Alfred. Your dad might, I’m not really sure about that.”

“He says he doesn’t,” Barbara said.

Dick shrugged. “Better for him if so, really. C—ah, Superman knows. Maybe some other people in the Justice League, but Bruce is pretty secretive even with them. It’s kind of… just how he rolls. Oh, and… Kid Flash.”

Barbara paused. “One of these things is… not like the others.”

“What can I say. He’s my best friend.”

She was inexplicably rankled by the casual way he imparted this information. “Okay, so. Now I get to be in the super secret club too. Do I get a badge or what?”

“Hey. Scoff all you want, but it is a pretty exclusive club. Hardly anybody gets to be a member. Not even—” He cut himself off abruptly. Barbara had to do a double take—was he _blushing_?

“Not even who?”

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Not even, uhh… Artemis is a member.”

“Artemis? Crock? Bette’s friend? What’s she got to do with anything?”

Dick covered his mouth to stifle his sudden fit of giggles, like he’d just remembered a really good joke. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell it to you later, promise.”

“If you say so. Oh!” Barbara suddenly snapped her fingers. “That reminds me. You can put one more on the club roster: Bette.”

That wiped the smile off his face quickly. “Bette Kane? Are you serious? Why did you tell _Bette Kane_? Do you have _any_ idea what Bruce—”

“Keep your shorts on, Henny Penny,” Barbara cut in. “I didn’t tell Bette anything. _She_ told _me_. Apparently her cousin’s known for years.”

Dick furrowed his brow. “Her cousin?”

“Oh, that’s right. She left town before you moved here. Katherine Kane, daughter of _the_ Colonel Jacob Kane. Heiress, socialite. Bette says she and Bruce go way back.”

“‘Way back’?” He raised an eyebrow in lieu of airquotes.

“Not like that. Well, as far as I know. Kate’s gay. Anyway, Bruce will know the name right away. _Most_ people in Gotham know the name. According to Bette, she’s trustworthy.” She frowned, remembering Bette’s precise words.

“Why the face?”

“She said I’m ‘practically Kate’s Mini-Me.’ I still haven’t figured out if I should take that as an insult or not.”

Dick laughed again. “So this cousin. Is she hot?”

“Gay,” Barbara reminded him. “And in a relationship. And twice your age. And out of your league.”

“Harsh.”

She put a hand on his shoulder, a mock-conciliatory gesture. “Sometimes the truth can hurt. So. I think you know what this means.”

Dick sighed, resigned. “Question time.”

“How much does Bruce know about Bette’s and my… activities?”

“Pretty much everything. He’s been keeping a close eye on you guys.”

“About that. You should probably talk to him about the fact that sometimes he comes off like a creepy stalker.”

“Hey, take it as a compliment.”

“Stalking is not a compliment.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Bruce has been really worried about you. When I told him I was pretty sure you were Batgirl, he looked like he’d swallowed a frog. You know, in a bad way, not in a French haute cuisine way. He’s always liked you.”

“I could really tell. He was sure thrilled to see me last week.”

“Babs, you gotta understand. This kind of lifestyle isn’t the sort of thing he’d choose for anybody.”

She looked at him pointedly. “That so?”

“I’m a… special case. Bruce thought this was better than the alternative, and I happen to agree with him. It’s not the same with you, though. You may think what you’re doing is worth it, but are you really sure? It’s dangerous. _Really_ dangerous. You’re operating on a different level from the police. Your enemies are going to make it personal. And like Bruce said, by putting that bat on your chest, you’ve already made yourself a target for _his_ enemies too.” He cocked his head. “Why did you do that, anyway? Just not feeling creative that day?”

“I… thought it would give me credibility if people thought I was connected to Batman,” she admitted, chagrined. “A… sort of a Girl Wonder, I guess.”

Dick looked almost impressed. “That’s actually pretty clever. Or, it would be if it weren’t such a double-edged sword.”

Barbara brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I know you two like to harp on how badly things _could_ have gone, but could we please take a minute to acknowledge that I’ve never taken an injury from which I could not recover?”

“Babs, even you have to admit that’s mostly luck.”

“Stop saying that. Luck only gets anyone so far. Could you just admit that I am at least somewhat capable? Let’s take my first job as an example. Yes, I got hurt pretty badly. And yes, I got saved by the timely arrival of the police. But think about everything leading _up_ to that. I wouldn’t have survived long enough to _be_ saved if it weren’t for the fact that I can actually handle myself. Admit it, Dick. I was locked in a building with five armed, grown men. I took four of them down and got out by myself.”

“What do you want me to say? You’re right, Babs. That was pretty badass. And it wouldn’t have mattered the slightest bit if Lawton had gotten a shot off.”

“But he _didn’t_. The ends are what matter.” Why was this so hard for them to understand?

“Look. Bruce says it’s how you adapt to the unforeseen that’s important. And you’ve done the best job of adapting you could. But you’re still a thirteen-year-old girl with minimal training and no real equipment. _That’s_ what Bruce has got stuck in his craw. You’re out of your depth. Do you have any idea how hard I trained before he let me go along _with_ him on a job? And I know, you have Bette with you. And sure, I guess it does make a difference. But she’s on the same level as you, if not lower. _She_ doesn’t know what she’s doing either. She may be a partner, but she’s no Batman.”

“What, and I’m no Robin?”

“Frankly? No. But it’s not brains or skill that makes the difference. It’s training and experience.”

Barbara was starting to feel exasperated. “Not all of us can be adopted by billionaire vigilantes. Some of us have to make do with less.”

“Babs, I don’t mean any of this as an insult. I mean, you met—Superman’s cousin, right?”

“She really is Superman’s cousin?”

“Yep. Even she’s had to go through a lot of training, and she’s got that whole ‘nigh invulnerable’ thing going for her. You’re a lot more… breakable by comparison.”

“So, what? I’m fragile now?”

“Yeah, you are. And so is Bette. And so am I. People are fragile. The line between life and death is very thin.”

“Fine.” Barbara crossed her arms over her chest. “Tell Bruce to train me, then. Because I’m not going to stop. Not now, not ever.”

“Ah… I don’t know about that.”

“What? He’ll train Superman’s cousin but not me?”

“Well, Superman sort of asked him personally to do that.”

“So… you ask him personally to do the same for me.”

Dick looked up at her. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Then I go back to business as usual.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I do, thank you. Those are my terms. If you two have an issue with my lack of ‘training,’ then I’m willing to accept any offers. If you have none, then I guess I will just carry on as I have been.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll talk to him, but I’m not making any promises. Bruce does what he wants, and he’s already pretty busy training the girls, you know, on top of all his other Batman and Bruce Wayne duties.”

“Girl…s, plural? Is he training the bee suit girl too? Whose cousin is she?”

“Ah. Yeah. That’s… complicated.”

“Right. Just talk to him about it. I’m open to anything he has to teach me. Bette will feel the same, trust me.”

“That’s just mean.”

Barbara shrugged. “Consider this payback for your ‘ _bette_ r’ puns.”

Dick cringed. “I knew those would come back to haunt me. Curse my irrepressibly impish spirit.”


	8. Delicacy

**GATEWAY CITY, MASSACHUSETTS  
JANUARY 21, 15:12 EST**

Cissie sat on the fence behind the row of archery students, watching quietly. Dawn Granger was pretty good. She had the temperament for an archer: calm, patient, calculating. She was the only one in the group who was even halfway decent, though.

Finally, after watching them hold their positions for five minutes, she got up and went down the row, correcting each person. “For the gazillionth time, archery is about perfectly straight lines. Straighter. _Straighter_.”

She resisted the urge to threaten them with a ruler. She was _not_ going to turn into Bonnie.

Skills-wise, Cissie was the most qualified of any of the students at St. Elias to fill in as a student teacher in this subject. She was younger—and shorter—than almost all of her students, though, and nobody seemed to take her very seriously. She also wasn’t calm, patient, or calculating; she’d had to overcome that with a dose of natural talent and years of her mother getting on her case to fake it. Frankly, she wanted to take the bows out of their hands and say, “Here, I’ll do it.” But that would defeat the purpose, or so she was told.

Part of the problem was that any instruction most of these girls had gotten had come from their previous teacher, Sasha Doi, who used a different style of archery than Cissie. The beginners, she decided to retrain from scratch—and of course, she got a lot of guff for that. The intermediate and “advanced”—at least relatively speaking—students, though, she’d have to work around.

Fortunately, Cissie had made it a point to watch Ms. Doi closely when she had shown off her Japanese-style archery, and Cissie could still picture her former teacher’s stance, the fluid sweep of her arm, the wider set of her feet, the way she pointed her index finger below the arrowhead instead of keeping it curled around the bow. When Ms. Bertinelli had asked her if she wouldn’t mind teaching a few classes, Traya had printed her some professional _kyudoka_ photos off the Internet, so at least she knew ahead of time that the way they bent their elbows wasn’t a mistake, even if it looked like one.

Jeannette had said that Ms. Doi—Shado, she’d called her—wasn’t working with her, but when Jeannette had disappeared, so had Shado. Cissie still had no idea what her agenda had been. All she knew was that she was no ordinary teacher, and that she’d been the most amazing archer Cissie had ever seen in person.

Unfortunately, she’d only been able to spend about a month under her tutelage, and that amounted mostly to pearls of wisdom that Cissie had already forgotten.

That meant the only teacher she really had to use as a role model was, well… Bonnie, which even Cissie knew was a recipe for disaster. Still, it was a temporary arrangement, and Cissie was getting course credit for it, so her feelings on the subject ultimately boiled down to, “whatever.”

It took all her willpower when they complained about how long she made them hold their stance not to launch into a long speech about how her mother had her doing that for hours in much worse weather when she was much younger than they were. She might have called them all whiner babies at one point, though; she wasn’t positive.

“All right, girls. Great job out there. Very impressive. You can pack it in early today.”

Ms. Bertinelli was standing at the back of the range, smiling at the girls as they filed past to put away their equipment and head back to their rooms. The response to her sudden pronouncement was predictably joyous—Cissie whipped her head back around to try to glare at whoever actually said “woo-hoo.”

“Oh, Suzanne, wait a moment. I’d like to talk to you.”

“ _Ooh_ ,” someone muttered, like that automatically meant Cissie must be in trouble.

She might very well have been, though probably not in the way anyone would assume. Cissie nodded at Ms. Bertinelli, then retrieved her own bow from where she’d left it under the guise of putting it away. Really, she just wanted to be armed in case of whatever happened.

“How have your classes been going?” Ms. Bertinelli asked once the last girl was gone.

“Well, I don’t think I’m about to win any Teacher of the Year awards, but I’ve seen some improvement in the ones who actually pay attention, so there’s that, I guess.”

“Now would the ones who pay attention be the ‘whiner babies,’ or the other ones?”

“Oh. Did I say that?” Cissie tried to put an “oops” expression on her face, but it couldn’t have been very convincing.

Ms. Bertinelli didn’t seem too bothered, at any rate. “Most of them really aren’t very good, are they? I suppose everyone has to start somewhere, though.”

Cissie tried to think of a more polite way to say, “How would you know?” She finally settled on, “How would you know?”

“Well, if I’m perfectly honest, I’m not a completely incompetent marksman myself.”

Cissie narrowed her eyes. She knew this woman was up to something. “Then… why didn’t you just take over the classes yourself? Why ask me to do it?”

“I’m best with a crossbow, which, as I’m sure you’re fully aware, is a completely different weapon from a recurve bow like yours. Granted, the longbow is a different beast yet again, but you seem to have adapted to Ms. Doi’s former students pretty well.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cissie.

“Suzanne, let’s not play games with one another. I know what happened between you and the former headmistress.”

Cissie’s grip tightened on her bow. “Uh-huh,” she said again.

“And I know you aren’t my biggest fan, which, really, makes no difference to me. It probably will make no difference whatsoever to _you_ if I say you’re wasting your energy mistrusting me, though.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But surely, you can trust _them_?”

Cissie swung around, leveling an arrow at… Black Canary and Green Arrow. Now where had _they_ come from?

“Good reflexes, but you shouldn’t turn your back on someone you aren’t willing to trust without incapacitating them first,” Black Canary said.

“Are you saying I should have shot her?”

Ms. Bertinelli laughed. “Feel free. I’d be impressed if you could hit me.”

“Are you… Justice League?”

“Affiliated,” Ms. Bertinelli said with a careless shrug.

“Then why didn’t you say so before?”

Ms. Bertinelli raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Would you have believed me?”

“No,” Cissie admitted after a brief pause.

“My job was only to look after you and make sure Jeannette and her cohorts knew you were under our protection.”

“Can’t this school ever get a headmistress who’s just a headmistress?”

“Oh, I’m fully qualified to fill this position. That’s why I was asked to come here. I can play both roles. And I’m sure Jeannette had her own set of qualifications. It just happens that she’s also got her own set of… you know… complications.”

“What, is that the nice way of saying she’s got freaky powers and a homicidal streak?”

“It’s certainly the more vague way. Dinah, Oliver, I’ll leave it to you.” Ms. Bertinelli nodded at Black Canary and Green Arrow, then headed back to the school.

As much as Cissie didn’t care for Ms. Bertinelli, watching her go gave her a sinking feeling. Being alone with Green Arrow and Black Canary was super awkward.

Cissie had confronted her mother with the rumors Jeannette had told her, that Bernell Jones was not her biological father and Oliver Queen, Green Arrow, was. Bonnie had been as honest on the subject as she could be: she wasn’t sure either way.

Not exactly the kind of thing anyone wants to hear from their mother. Apart from not answering the question… ick.

It didn’t change things between her and Bernell, who had raised her and would always be her real father. But, well. Standing with the man who may have donated half her genetic material? With his current girlfriend as a third wheel? There was no way to get around the weirdness of that.

She also had to assume that Oliver had heard the rumors too, but it was pretty obvious neither of them was willing to be the first one to bring it up. Awkward, awkward, double awkward.

“It’s good to see you again, Suzanne,” Black Canary said finally. “How has everything been?”

“Non-explodey,” Cissie told her. It seemed like the safest, most honest answer.

“Glad to hear it. Listen, we’ve got a proposal for you.”

“We don’t know if Jeannette or anyone working with her still plans on coming after you,” Oliver said. “We have to assume that since she tried to kill you once, she’ll try it again. We were impressed with the way you handled yourself, though.”

“I had help,” Cissie pointed out.

“Yes, and we’d like to give you more help. If you’re interested, I’m here to offer you self-defense training,” Black Canary said.

Cissie put her hand on her hip. “I know judo, kickboxing, and gymnastics.”

“You know how to handle yourself against other normal people. You may find yourself a bit overmatched when it comes to the kind of people Jeannette runs with, though.”

Wasn’t this perfect. She’d come to St. Elias to get away from everything her mother made her do and now here were more people wanting her to do more things she had little interest in. She was ready to say, “thanks, but no thanks.”

Unfortunately, the whole appeal made too much sense. “You really think Jeannette’s still after me?”

“It’s possible,” Black Canary said gently. “None of us wants to take any chances with your life. Helena—Ms. Bertinelli will be able to keep you safe while you’re here, but you won’t always be here. And she won’t always be nearby. We just want to give you what tools we can so that should the worst happen, you have the best chance of getting out of it okay.”

“And you would be the one training me?” Cissie specifically pointed at Black Canary so there would be no confusion.

“I would be the one teaching you direct combat skills. Self-defense, how to handle opponents bigger, stronger, and more superpowered than yourself. As for your archery…”

“My niece, Artemis, would be willing to help you out,” Oliver put in quickly.

Translation: “Not it.” _Message received_ , Cissie thought, feeling unmistakably bitter.

“You can have some time to think it over,” Black Canary added when she hesitated.

“I’m in,” Cissie blurted out without thinking. She was never sure when exactly she’d come to that conclusion, or why. “Can Traya come too?”

“Traya?” Oliver repeated.

“Sutton. The girl who was with her in Manhattan. Right?” Canary looked at Cissie, who nodded confirmation. “I… don’t know…”

“It’s fine.”

It was hard to say who was more surprised by Oliver’s declaration: Cissie or Canary.

Still, Cissie’s resentment was mixed with a small amount of delight. “Okay then. I’ll… be there. Where exactly will I be? And when?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Canary said. “Ms. Bertinelli will make sure you get to the right place.”


	9. Exhibition

**GOTHAM CITY, CONNECTICUT  
JANUARY 22, 16:09 EST**

Bette had hoped she would get to see the Batcave Babs had mentioned, or at least Wayne Manor, but Dick told them to wait in a back alley by an out of order phone booth, which was nowhere near as cool, glamorous, safe, or even sanitary.

“This feels like the set-up of a bad horror movie,” Bette said. “Where’s the secret back door to the Batcave?”

“Try to stay whelmed,” Dick said, appearing out of nowhere.

Bette jumped in surprise. “Suddenly the ninja thing makes a whole lot more sense.”

Dick snickered. “Hello, ladies. Step this way. Your final destination lies ahead.”

“Where’s Mr. Wayne?” Bette asked, her head whipping around so rapidly she was in danger of pulling something.

“Not here,” Dick said.

“Hold it,” Babs said, clamping her hands on both sides of Bette’s face to keep it still. “What’s going on?”

“Ah, yeah, about that. Bruce won’t be the one training you.”

“Nooo,” Bette whined. “I wanted to hang out with _Batman_.”

“What gives?” Babs asked, unamused.

“You’ll see when we get there.” He opened the phone booth and stepped inside.

* * *

**MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
JANUARY 22, 16:12 EST**

“And so obviously, my question was, can this thing do space travel? So I told the computer to take us to Venus. Imagine my surprise when we ended up in Italy. I was like, computer, I said _Ve_ nus, not _Ven_ ice.”

They were standing in a brightly-lit cave that didn’t match Babs’ description of the Batcave at all. As soon as their vision cleared, a figure flew—literally—up to them.

“It’s you two! I was hoping we would see each other again. I guess it’s all right for me to tell you my name is Kara.”

Bette blinked. It was Superman’s cousin. Standing farther back in the cave in a small group were three other girls, one of whom she recognized as the bee suit girl, though she wasn’t wearing the bee suit.

“Hi,” Bette said, smiling. “I’m Bette, and this is Babs.”

“Barbara,” Babs corrected. “I didn’t know this was going to be a group seminar.”

“Surprise!” Dick said. “Welcome to Mount Justice.”

“Not the Batcave?” Bette pouted.

“Much nicer than the Batcave,” Babs said, looking around with approval.

“Hey, don’t knock it,” Dick said, clearly offended. “Canary not here yet?”

“Nope,” said another voice, this one also male. Hanging back away from everyone else was a teenage boy, muscular, wearing a black T-shirt with a red S shield on it.

“Hel _looo_ ,” Bette said, raising her eyebrows. “We haven’t been introduced yet. I’m Bette Kane.”

“He’s Superboy and he’s taken, so lower those brows,” Dick said.

Bette snapped her fingers. “Have you ever considered going by Batboy instead of Robin? Then you six would make a nice little parallel set.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening. Anyway I guess you guys can just hang out and get to know each other until Canary shows up.” Dick grabbed Bette’s arm before she could head over to Superboy. “Get to know the other _girls_.”

“Bette and Babs, right?” the bee suit girl said. “Thank goodness neither of you is another K. I’m Karen, and Robin already calls me and Kara the ‘double Ks.’ You can probably guess why I’m not too keen on adding another.”

“I’m Traya,” one of the other girls put in. She was young, probably only about ten or so, and pretty in that plain way tomboys who don’t realize they’re pretty often are. “And this is Cissie.”

Cissie was small too, and she looked about as thrilled to be there as Babs did. Both Cissie and Traya were dressed identically in what had to be school uniforms, sweater vests, pleated skirts, knee socks, and all. Poor things. Babs and Bette had stopped at home to change out of theirs before heading to meet Dick.

“Listen, you two, I just want to say, I know we got off on the wrong foot when we first met,” Karen went on. “I’d been having a crap day. Not that that’s really a good excuse for being such a creep, but, anyway. Bygones?” She looked at Bette and Babs steadily, her dark eyes utterly sincere.

“Of course!” Bette said without hesitation. “We’re all partners in… whatever it is we’re doing here now, right?”

“Yes, we are!” Kara said excitedly.

A voice spoke out to announce the arrival of Black Canary (one three), and she appeared in the same beam of light that had brought Dick, Babs, and Bette from Gotham City—a Zeta-Beam, Dick had called it.

“Sorry I’m late, girls,” she said, pulling off her jacket and tossing it to Superboy, who caught it with only a slight flinch.

“Lost track of time during your ‘interpersonal event’ with GA, huh?” Dick said.

“No comments from the peanut gallery,” Black Canary said. “For those of you who haven’t met me, I’m Black Canary. Batman’s asked me to handle your self-defense training. And you are… Barbara, Mary Elizabeth, Kara, Karen, Traya, and Suzanne. Did I get them all right?”

“You can call me Bette,” Bette said. “This is _such_ an honor, Ms. Canary. I’m a huge fan.”

“Just Canary’s fine, and thank you. Now, I’d like to get a baseline of where you all stand. Can you tell me what sort of previous experience you have in athletics and martial arts? Bette, why don’t you start?”

“Oh, let’s see. Aikido, gymnastics, kickboxing, judo, tennis, badminton, volleyball… well, those are my strongest ones, anyway. Especially tennis.” She pantomimed swinging a racquet.

“Judo, mostly,” Babs said. “And basic aikido, gymnastics, parkour, and eskrima.”

“Klurkor!” Kara said. “And a few weeks of personal training with the Batman.”

“Yeah, ditto the Batman thing, I guess. Also does cheerleading count? If so, cheerleading,” Karen put in.

“Judo, kickboxing, gymnastics, ballet,” said Cissie. “And archery.”

“Ah, I’m just her plus one,” Traya said when everybody turned to her. “All though my favorite sport is baseball?”

“So basically everybody’s at about the same level except for me and Baby Ruth here,” Karen summarized, jerking her thumb at Traya.

“Not a problem. You’re all here to learn. Superboy, you’re up,” Canary said.

With a sigh, Superboy got to his feet and joined the rest of the group.

“Superboy here’s going to be my practice dummy since he doesn’t mind getting tossed around a bit.”

“Actually he kind of likes it,” Dick put in, snickering.

“Maybe you should take your shirt off, you know, so it doesn’t get torn,” Bette suggested. Babs elbowed her.

“Seconded!” Karen agreed enthusiastically.

“Please, someone get the fire hose,” Babs muttered.

“As always, SB, your rugged good looks are a gift and a curse,” Dick commented.

“Aw, you think I’m good-looking too?” Superboy said.

Black Canary grabbed his arm and flipped him over on his back.

“Very good, Superboy,” she said. “That was a nice demonstration of one of the most basic but important lessons: always be alert and aware.”

“Not fair. Robin was hitting on me,” Superboy groaned from the floor.

“Is that not something you’re used to?” Bette asked. “I’m just asking because you look like someone who gets hit on a lot.”

“She means you’re a hottie, Conner,” Karen explained. “So’s his girlfriend, though. Sorry, girl.”

“Looking’s a free action,” Bette said.

“Should have gotten an uglier punching bag, Canary,” Dick said.

“Are you volunteering?” Superboy asked.

“He can’t,” Babs said, planting a fist in her palm. “I’ve got dibs.”

“I didn’t know you guys were into that,” Bette said.

“Oh! Are you and Robin a ‘couple,’ Barbara?” Kara asked.

Babs groaned and put her head in her hand. “Teacher, is there any chance I can transfer to a different class.”

“Wow, you really _are_ Batgirl,” Karen said. “Seriously, I can hear that in his voice and everything. Next say, ‘This is no jo’—UWAAH!”

Black Canary grabbed Karen by the arm and flipped her with the exact same move she’d just used on Superboy.

“This is no jo uwaah,” Babs repeated without inflection.

From the floor, Karen snickered.

“I’m starting to see why Batman handed you over to me,” Canary said.

“Yeah. Tell me the whole tragic story: did he lose his sense of humor in a terrible accident or was he just born without one?”

“We’ve got S.T.A.R. Labs on that very question,” Dick said.

“All right, Karen. I know combat’s not your forte, but trust me when I say you want to learn this,” Canary told her, helping her back to her feet. “This goes for all of you. Superboy didn’t think he needed it and now he’s one of my best pupils. Right?”

“I got tired of her kicking my ass constantly,” Superboy said with a sigh.

“And by ‘tired of,’ he means—”

“Robin, don’t you have a word to pick apart?”

“Sorry, was that not couth of me?” Dick giggled.

“All right, Robin. Beat it.” Canary jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the Zeta-Beam.

“What? No! I want to see Babs kick SB’s butt.”

Superboy looked at Babs, who had to be roughly about half his size.

“Actually, I want to see that too,” Bette agreed.

“Can I third that?” Karen said.

“Do I get a say in this?” Babs asked.

“No,” Dick, Bette, and Karen said.

“Come on, Barbara. Kick his butt!” Kara punched a fist in the air.

“I’d say two to one odds on Barbara,” Traya put in.

Babs stepped into the circle next to Superboy, sizing him up. “I’ll try to go easy on you,” she said wryly.

Superboy swung a fist. Babs immediately ducked, aiming low to break his stance. Superboy pivoted around her feet, nearly knocking her flat on her rear. She redirected her momentum into a backflip, wrapping his arm around his back. He bent forward, trying to throw her overhead, but she held her footing with ease and dropped him face-first to the floor.

There was a smattering of light applause.

“He held back,” Babs said, clearly annoyed.

“Can you blame me? Look how tiny she is.” Superboy got to his feet and dusted himself off.

“She’s bigger than Robin,” Karen pointed out.

“Yeah, but… she’s…”

“What? A girl?” Babs put her hands on her hips.

“Ruh-roh,” Dick said.

Superboy held up his hands. “I’m sorry! Go feminism and all that but I have super strength. I didn’t want to _break_ you.”

“Hate to burst your bubble, but you’re _not_ the biggest guy I’ve gone toe to toe with,” Babs told him.

“It’s true,” Bette added. “I was there.”

“One of the times anyway.”

“That’s all well and good, but if I send you into the wall, who’s gonna be the one who has to hear it from Batman?” Superboy pointed out.

“He’s got you there, Babs. Also, I should tell you her dad’s a cop,” Dick said.

The Zeta-Beam fired up again. A pair of teenagers the computer announced as Kid Flash and Artemis appeared. Kid Flash had his arm draped around Artemis’ shoulders and they were laughing about something.

“Ah!” Bette cried, pointing. Standing in the cave wasn’t just any old Artemis; it was Artemis _Crock_.

“Hey, Bette. Hey, Barbara. Which one of you is Cissie?” Artemis said, thoroughly unfazed at the sight of her classmates in the secret superhero cave.

“That’s me,” Cissie said, stepping forward. “You’re Green Arrow’s niece?”

“No,” said Artemis. “But close enough. Mind if I steal her?”

“Go right ahead,” Canary said.

“Come on, kid,” said Artemis, and she, Cissie, Kid Flash, and Traya left.

“You!” said Bette, spinning around to level her pointed finger at Dick. “You got some ’splainin’ to do.”

Dick just laughed.


	10. Connectivity

**JANUARY 22, 16:40 EST**

“So, you’re Kid Flash?” Traya asked him, just to be sure.

The redheaded teenager beside her ran a hand through his hair. “Even better looking in person, right?”

“Wally, stop hitting on the ten-year-old,” Artemis said.

“Eleven,” Cissie corrected.

“Actually, I _am_ only ten,” Traya admitted.

“Wait… what? Seriously? But you’re _almost_ eleven, right?”

“If November is ‘almost,’” Traya said.

“But… you’re in the same grade as me.”

Traya could only shrug. When she’d come to the States, she’d taken tests and had ended up a grade or two ahead of where she should have been by age. She got the impression that she might have been able to skip ahead further, but the system was very invested in social promotion, for whatever reason.

She had never claimed to be the same age as Cissie; she’d just let Cissie assume. Being from Bialya wasn’t the only reason she’d gotten picked on at St. Elias.

“If it makes you feel any better, I speak four languages and some of these guys still make me feel stupid,” Artemis told Cissie.

“We can’t all be geniuses,” Kid Flash—Wally said. “Some of you have to settle for being merely ‘above average.’”

Artemis elbowed him in the ribs. “Oh yeah, Mr. Genius? Can I tell them about your stunning performance at the Tower of Fate, when you almost sent us plummeting to our fiery deaths trying to impress a girl who was never interested in you?”

“Ixnay on the avalay,” Wally muttered.

“Or that _other_ time you almost got us all killed because you forgot to close the circuit on the EMP.”

“Babe, no fair. Rob was the one who built that. Not my fault he can’t follow directions.”

“I wonder which of her four languages they’re speaking now,” Cissie murmured in Traya’s ear.

“Same one everyone else was speaking back there,” Traya replied, nodding back towards where they’d left the other girls.

“I am so glad you came with me.”

Traya grinned. “Wouldn’t have missed it for anything.” She turned to Artemis. “Are you from Gotham City?”

“Hm? Why?” Artemis asked.

“Just curious. Because you already know Bette and Barbara, but they were surprised to see you here, so I figured you must only know each other in civilian life. I’m guessing you go to school together or something.”

“Ah. Yeah. Here, Wally, you can have this one.” Artemis took Traya by the shoulders and steered her a little closer to him.

“Where are you girls from?” Wally asked.

“Star City,” Cissie replied. That was actually only true of her, but Traya decided it was close enough. “Actually, we’ve… sort of met before.”

“You and me?” Artemis said, realizing Cissie was looking at her.

“You probably don’t remember. It was last month—you and Green Arrow saved my dad from Black Spider.”

“Black Spider… oh! The journalist, right? Jones?”

Cissie nodded, seemingly surprised. “Yeah. I… uh, I mean, thanks. To both of you.”

“Huh. Small world,” Artemis said. She stopped, motioning at the room they had just entered. “I set up this little gauntlet for you to see what you can do.”

“I helped,” Wally added.

Artemis ignored him. “Think you can handle it?” she asked Cissie.

The best description Traya could come up with to describe it was minigolf but with archery. There were targets, platforms, swinging obstacles—all that was missing was a sphinx or a giant model of Abraham Lincoln’s head.

Cissie sized it up. “Piece of cake,” she said, taking out her bow and slinging her quiver on her back.

Without waiting for a go-ahead, Cissie launched herself at the course, vaulting over the platforms and around the obstacles, hitting every target with a perfect bull’s-eye while barely pausing to breathe between each shot. If Traya didn’t know any better, she would have sworn Cissie’d had practice on this very range.

“Dibs on her next time we play laser tag,” Wally said.

Artemis threw up her hands in a half-shrug. “Well. There goes the lesson plan for today. What, exactly, does Green Arrow expect me to teach you?”

Traya reached into her pocket and pulled out the piece of paper she’d stashed there. “Actually, I have an idea. You use trick arrows, right?”

“What is that?” Cissie asked her as she handed the paper over.

Wally read over Artemis’s shoulder as she unfolded and scanned the page. Both of them starting snickering.

“What is it?” Cissie demanded, her face turning a little red.

“Who came up with these?” Artemis asked.

“Well, uh… her mom.” Traya pointed at Cissie.

“ _What?_ ” Without waiting for someone to clue her in, Cissie grabbed the paper out of Artemis’s hands. “Nail file arrow? Perfume arrow? _Bubble bath_ arrow? Oh, yeah, these will go great with my new star-spangled costume. Where did you get this?”

“In the box with your new star-spangled costume,” Traya admitted sheepishly. “It was at the bottom. I know most of them seem… well, pretty laughable, but if you look, the ideas are sound. Don’t you think she could adapt some of these to be less, you know… ridiculous?”

Wally took the paper back from Cissie and looked it over again. “She has a point. These look like pretty workable designs.”

Cissie ripped the paper away from him and balled it up. “No,” she said firmly, tossing it over her shoulder before stalking out of the room.

“Are short tempers an archer thing or what?” Wally boggled. “I thought you guys were supposed to be cool-headed.”

“Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have… she doesn’t have the best relationship with her mother,” Traya explained, feeling deeply uncomfortable. She picked up the ball of paper from where it landed and tried to smooth it out. “I thought some were clever, though. I mean, who wouldn’t stumble a bit after getting hit in the face with thirty milliliters of Chanel No. 5? Well… apart from maybe somebody who has no sense of smell or taste, I guess. As stupid as they sound, they’d do a pretty good job of slowing someone down or obscuring their vision or other senses and making for an easier apprehension or getaway. A bubble bath arrow—soap in the eyes and mouth, bubbles flying everywhere, reduced friction underfoot… Granted, going out with an arsenal like this would make it unlikely for anyone to take her seriously, but you’ve seen her shoot. That could be to her advantage.”

“I know a thing or two about not wanting to follow in your family’s footsteps no matter how hard they try to make you,” Artemis said. “You’re right; there are some good ideas. But I can teach Cissie using the trick arrows I have for now. Hang on to that in case she changes her mind.” She turned to Wally. “I’m gonna go track her down and see if I can’t fight attitude with attitude. You two can hang back and… talk shop or whatever.”

After she was gone, Wally motioned back towards the main area where they’d left everyone else. “Wanna go watch Canary whale on Superboy some more?”

“I guess. Can I ask you some questions?”

“Uh… yeah, sure,” Wally said. She didn’t miss the side-glance he gave her, as if he feared he’d probably regret his answer.

“How do all of you know each other?”

He let out a tiny sigh of relief. “Mostly from working together over the years. You know how it seems like actors all know each other? It’s that kind of thing. Superheroes are a pretty small pool. We’re secretive about our identities in general but we can be pretty open with each other. Well, except for Robin and Batman.”

“Really? Barbara and Bette seem to know Robin well.”

Wally shrugged. “Yeah, sure. He’s got a few people who get to be in on his deep bat secrets, but for the most part, good luck getting him to even take off those shades.”

“Ohh, is _that_ why he wears them,” Traya said, nodding. “I thought he was just, you know…”

“A douche?” Wally snickered. “Nah. Batman’s just kind of drilled it into his head that he has to be all ‘dark’ and ‘mysterious’ about everything. But yeah, I guess the other girls knew each other already, like you and Cissie. I think Karen and Kara—don’t ask me which is which—go to school with Supey—Superboy, that is. Well, and he’s related to the blond one.”

“That’s Kara,” Traya told him.

“Eh, I’m sure I’ll learn eventually. Babs and Bette go to school together, plus I guess they’re both from big important families in Gotham City or whatever.”

“Robin said Barbara’s father is with the police.”

“Police commissioner, I think. And Bette’s family, from what I understand, is just super rich. You know Bruce Wayne? Apparently the Kanes are like a nickel below him on the net worth scale. I think together they make up the entire one percent.”

“You’re awfully free with information. Oh, I hope that didn’t sound rude.”

“That’s actually probably gotta be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said about me. Well, I figure if you’re allowed in Mount Justice, you’ve passed all the background checks and it’s safe to tell you anything that’s common knowledge, at least in this circle. Bats, Supes, Wonder Woman—all way too serious biz to let anybody in here otherwise. Trust me, if they didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be here, and if they trust you, then I know I can trust you.”

“Oh. I guess I should be… flattered?”

“Sure, we can go with that.”

“All right. Flattered it is then.” Traya nodded. “So… do you guys all live here or what?”

“No. Well, some of us do. Superboy, Megan, Zatanna—you haven’t met them yet, have you? The rest of us live with family. We get around with Zeta-Beams. Very handy technology.”

Traya’s eyes widened. “They’re _amazing_. I imagine it requires a machine at both the departure and arrival points in order for the beam to connect, right? A bit disappointing since you can’t just go any old where you want, but still… _amazing_. Is there a network set up all over the world?”

“Pretty much,” Wally said. “Obviously some places like certain rogue states don’t take too kindly to the idea of the League having an open door in and out of their pad, but thanks to Zeta-Beam technology, you can get from just about any place on the planet to any other within a couple hours.”

“Is it wrong that I’m starting to consider becoming a superhero just so I can have access to that?”

“Frankly, I was a little more concerned you’d already figured out how to duplicate it.”

Traya grinned at him. “No. Not yet, anyway. Give me some time.”

Wally grinned back. “I like you. You can stay.”


	11. Furtive

**GOTHAM CITY, CONNECTICUT  
FEBRUARY 10, 23:02 EST**

Kara peered at the office building they were surveilling, scanning it with her x-ray vision. “Two or three people on each floor, except for the ground. There are about a dozen there.”

“That’ll be the night security. The fact that there’s so many of them makes me wonder what they’re guarding. Bumblebee, you’re in charge of patching security. Go in through this window on the second floor. The security room is one floor directly below. Supergirl and I will head for Thorne’s office,” Barbara whispered. “Arrowette, Flamebird, you’ll be on perimeter. Be prepared to move when I give the signal.”

“What’s the signal?” Bette asked.

“Gunshot, explosion, scream for help—take your pick,” Karen said.

Barbara ignored her, instead handing out earpieces. “We’ll stay in touch via radio. Put it in your ear like so and we’ll all be connected.” She made a show of putting in the earpiece, then watched as the others followed her lead. “Everybody linked up?”

“Testing!” Bette said excitedly.

Everyone else flinched.

“I think it’s safe to say you don’t have to speak that loudly,” Karen told her.

“Okay. Communications online. Bumblebee, you’re up first. Get in, patch, get out. Supergirl, we’re going to be on standby outside Thorne’s office until Bumblebee gives us the all clear. Flamebird, I want you at the front of the building. Arrowette, you take the back. Stay quiet and hidden and _safe_. Everybody ready? Let’s go.”

“Good luck,” Kara whispered to Karen before she took off towards the office building they’d been surveilling. Then Kara lifted Barbara up under the arms and flew the two of them straight up the side of the building, all the way to the top floor.

“This stupid skirt,” Cissie’s voice came in over the radio.

“I told you you were going to want to change that,” Karen said.

“I keep forgetting,” Cissie told her. “Other things like survival training keep seeming more important.”

“Ooh, you should let me design your new costume,” Bette said.

“Shh!” Barbara hissed. “Everybody in position?”

“Aye aye, captain,” Bette said.

“Hang on, I have short legs and a miniskirt,” came Cissie’s voice. There was a long pause filled only with the sound of footsteps and breathing. “Okay, now I’m there.”

Kara’s vision was good enough to see what was going on far below. She could make out Bette, secreted around the corner from the front door, and Cissie, tucking herself into a shadowy spot out back. On the second floor, Karen broke in through the window after using one of Batman’s gadgets to disconnect it from the building’s security system temporarily, then flew inside.

They’d gone out on three other recon missions following leads Batman had given them, but so far they’d all been total busts. That actually turned out to be a good thing, since the first time they worked together was a complete disaster, culminating in Karen accidentally zapping Barbara in the back of the head and knocking her out cold. Having to drag her back to Mount Justice had been bad enough, but explaining what had happened had been even worse.

In the time since, they’d gotten much better at it. They had all sort of defaulted to Barbara as their leader; she was the second-youngest of them, but nobody could argue the fact that she had the best head for it. Karen didn’t take things seriously enough; Cissie didn’t think things through enough; Bette couldn’t prioritize; Kara was too unwilling to hurt anyone’s feelings. None of them even really wanted the position, anyway.

By the top floor window, Kara waited patiently, listening intently in case Karen needed help. The only sounds that came through were the sounds that Kara guessed were from Karen removing the light fixture in the ceiling to drop down to the floor below. She would have been able to take out the guard manning the cameras before he even saw her with the drugged dart and blowgun Batman had given her beforehand. Finally, after several long minutes, Karen appeared outside the window again.

“Security’s patched. You’re good to go,” she told them over the radio.

“Good job. Hold your position and stay out of sight.” Barbara immediately cut a hole in the glass of the window they were hovering outside, then reached in to open it. She motioned for Kara to raise her a little higher, and then she swung herself in. Kara flew in after.

“Think now’s a bad time to play the penis game?” Karen asked. Bette snickered.

If Barbara reacted to this, it wasn’t verbally. She handed Kara her lock-picking tools, then helped herself to the computer on the big antique desk near the window.

Kara began checking the desk drawers, but it became obvious quickly that apart from a humidor containing illegal Cuban cigars, there was nothing incriminating in any of them.

Barbara nodded towards the office door. “Don’t do anything unless anybody tries to come in. Then… stop them.”

Kara nodded. There were enough people in the building that caution was necessary. Still, the night watch probably wasn’t expecting anyone to fly in through the window, especially not on the top floor, so as long as they were quiet and nobody noticed the security system was on a loop, they could get out without anyone noticing.

Suddenly, Barbara sucked her breath in sharply.

“What is it?” Kara asked quietly, not moving from the spot.

That was when the alarm went off.

“I think we’ve been found out,” Barbara said. “We’re about to have company and they aren’t going to want to let us go. I need five more minutes with this machine. Arrowette, Bumblebee, rendezvous at Flamebird’s 20. Head in through the front and make a lot of noise. Supergirl, there’s no way they’re not going to at least make a cursory check of this office, so use that doorway to make a bottleneck. Five minutes, and then everybody get out however you can. Got it?”

Kara nodded.

“Got it,” said Cissie.

“Roger,” Karen said at the same time.

“What do you mean, my ‘20’?” Bette asked.

Kara threw open the office door. As Barbara predicted, there were three armed men already headed down the hall at them. Fortunately Kara didn’t have to worry about bullets, unless they were made out of kryptonite, which they probably weren’t. She just had to keep them out of the office for five minutes.

“Freeze!” one of the armed men said.

Kara put her hands in the air, a gesture of surrender. When he got close, though, she hit his gun hand hard to disarm him, then followed it up with a strike to the solar plexus that dropped him to the floor. The other two were on her at once, but she sent one into the other and both into the wall. It was over in seconds.

At least a minute if not more passed without so much as a sign of anyone else on their floor. She could hear the turmoil downstairs through the radio but could do nothing about it. She was feeling antsy. She was the invulnerable one; she shouldn’t be standing up there safe and sound and doing _nothing_.

Then suddenly over the radio came the crack of a gunshot and a shout. Kara hesitated for only a fraction of a second longer. “I’m going to help the others!” she called to Barbara.

“Wait—no—Supergirl!”

But she was out the window again, down to the ground floor. Without pausing to assess the situation, she went straight in through one of the floor-length windows that made up its front wall, right into one of the security guards, tackling him to the ground. Another jumped on her, but she threw him off. It was complete chaos. Cissie had vaulted onto a desk and was firing foam and net arrows whenever she could get a clear shot. Karen and Bette were back to back, trying to hold off the mob of men they hadn’t already dropped.

Her friends were badly outnumbered but otherwise appeared to be fine. There had to be over a dozen men still standing and more arriving from the rest of the building. She spotted one downed security guard holding his shoulder, red seeping around his hand—that must have been the gunshot she’d heard. Fortunately everyone else learned from that mistake and decided it was too much of a free-for-all for any more gunplay.

Kara grabbed one security guard, lifted him into the air, and dropped him on the mob around Karen and Bette.

“Security guard bowling,” Karen shouted above the fracas, hitting two more with her stingers. “I like it. Next Olympic sport?”

More security guards kept coming. Kara could hardly believe there were so many. It seemed like far more than she’d seen in her x-ray scan. “Where are they all coming from?” she gasped, but she didn’t expect an answer—and didn’t receive one, either.

“Has it been five minutes yet?” Bette asked.

“No,” came Barbara’s voice, with no elaboration.

Over the radio there was a loud crash, and Barbara screamed.


	12. Stuck

**FEBRUARY 10, 23:39 EST**

It all happened so fast there was no time to think it over. Blow her cover or leave Batgirl to fend for herself? That wasn’t much of a question, was it? In through the window feet-first and straight into the big guy with the gun, that was the way to do it—no chance for him to realize what hit him, because if he did realize, he would probably put up more of a fight.

The two went down to the floor in a heap, knocking over furniture and generally making a big mess. She was just glad she wouldn’t have to be the one to clean it up.

“Keep him busy, I need two more minutes!” Batgirl shouted from the computer.

“What do you think I’m trying to do? It’s not as easy as I’m making it look!” The guy was easily twice her size and threw her off without much difficulty, but Batgirl said she needed two more minutes, so two more minutes she would have to buy.

She got to her feet and tackled him bodily. Even the biggest guys have a hard time powering through a fiercely-struggling child clinging to their backs. Together they stumbled around the room like a cowboy on a bucking bronco. He slammed her back into the wall, which was more than enough to knock the wind out of just about anyone, but she locked her arms tighter around his neck and did her best to hold on. It probably looked pretty funny, but unfortunately, she couldn’t have said for sure from her vantage point.

“Done! Come on! Everybody, get out now!” Batgirl shouted, possibly to her, possibly to someone else.

She released the big goon, dropping to the floor and rolling out of range of his stomping feet. She ran for the window, where Batgirl fired a grappling hook gun at the building opposite. “Ever zip-lined before?”

“Can’t say I have, no!”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Hang on tight and try not to smash into the wall!” Then Batgirl gave her a shove and down she went.

Before she even had a chance to smash into the wall, though, the line behind her came free, and she was falling. She only had enough time to notice Batgirl was falling with her.

Something caught her within seconds. “Ugh,” it groaned. “You’re heavy.” They lurched and fell in fits and spurts, the fall controlled only enough to keep them from becoming road pizza.

They still hit the ground harder than was comfortable. Batgirl made a more graceful landing with more graceful help nearby.

She got to her feet, making sure her mask and hood were still in place. Good. Time to hit the road.

A net hit her from behind before she could make it more than a few steps. She fell in a heap on the ground with a sigh. This was the thanks she got.

There were five girls standing over her. Batgirl, whom she’d saved in the office. A girl in a bee suit, the one who’d saved her from the fall. She recognized Flamebird, too. There was also a girl dressed like Superman—she’d been the one to catch Batgirl—and an archer in a mask and a miniskirt—probably the one who’d fired the net at her.

Sirens blared in the distance.

“We better book,” the bee girl said.

“Yes,” Batgirl said with a nod. “Supergirl, can you carry her?”

Carry her _where_ , exactly? “Hey, wait! I saved your life. The hero code demands that you release me.”

“You just made that up,” Batgirl said unfeelingly.

“Besides, _I_ saved _your_ life, so now _you_ owe _me_ ,” the bee girl said, grinning.

“I’m willing to wait while you duel it out with my new servant here.”

“We don’t have time for this. Batman needs to see what I found on Thorne’s computer _immediately_. Come on!” Without waiting for further comment, Batgirl set off into the night.

Supergirl picked her up like she was a rag doll. “I’m sorry. We’re good people, I promise. You will not be harmed.”

* * *

**MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
FEBRUARY 10, 23:57 EST**

“You do know when you bring back souvenirs, it’s supposed to be small stuff, right? Not people?”

Barbara pushed past Kid Flash, heading for the computer, where Dick was standing with Traya.

“Get Batman on there,” she said. “I need to talk to him.”

“Can I be not in a net anymore, pretty please?”

Barbara didn’t look to see if anyone freed the girl they’d brought back. Frankly, her mind was on other things.

“Babs, slow down. What happened?”

Barbara sighed and switched on her portable projector. “Thorne’s dirty. It was all over his computer. He’s been in contact with someone I’m about eighty-seven percent sure is an assassin. But that’s not the worst part. Look.” She highlighted a section of one of the documents she’d gotten off Thorne’s computer.

 _“‘—evidence of Gordon consorting with the vigilante Batman and will serve as a sufficient catalyst to have him removed from office if not—_ arrested’! Babs, this was on Thorne’s computer?” Dick was flabbergasted.

“Yes. There’s a lot of communication about how to smear Batman and take down Gordon so they can put someone else in charge of the GCPD, someone just as dirty as them. I’m convinced they’ll resort to murder if the more subtle approach doesn’t work.”

“But now that we know, we can stop them. Right?” Kara said.

“Oh, we’re going to stop it, that’s for sure,” Barbara said.

“Correction: _I_ will stop them.” Bruce in full Batman mode appeared via the Zeta-Beam. “I’ve suspected Thorne was dirty for some time. I knew he had it in for me, but it hadn’t occurred to me he might go after Gordon too.”

“Who’s Gordon?” Karen asked.

“Babs’ dad,” Bette replied. “The police commissioner.”

“Ouch! Yeah, her reaction makes a lot more sense now.”

“Who’s this?” Bruce stopped in front of their “guest.”

Barbara took a good look at her for the first time. She was wearing a lot of purple: purple suit, purple hooded cape, a black mask covering her entire face.

“I bring you our mysterious brick-thrower,” Barbara said. “Isn’t that right?”

“According to the rules of the Geneva Convention, I’m only required to give you my name, rank, and serial number.”

“The Geneva Convention is for prisoners of war,” Karen pointed out, hands on hips.

“You caught me in uniform, didn’t you?”

“Fine. Name. Let’s start with that,” Bruce said.

“Spoiler,” the girl in purple told him.

“Real name.”

“I’d rather not.”

“It’s all right,” Kara said. “You’re among friends here.”

“I know. I’d still rather not. Oh gosh, look at the time.” She held out her watch-less wrist. “I better be going. Now if someone can point me to the door… or… zappy beam that goes outside.”

When she tried to step around Bruce, Bruce stepped with her. “Gotham is my city,” he told her, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t appreciate interlopers.”

“Okay, kiddies, Daddy needs some alone time,” Dick said suddenly, trying to round everyone up and usher them out of the room.

Barbara shot him a look that let him know she wasn’t going anywhere.

Soon it was just her, Dick, Bruce, and Spoiler.

“You know, you could try thanking me,” Spoiler said, mimicking Bruce’s posture. “Not even getting into all the other awesome stuff I’ve done, I did save Batgirl here twice. You’re welcome.” She added the last bit to Barbara in a singsong voice.

“‘Other awesome stuff’?” Barbara asked. “Like what?”

“Arthur Brown,” Bruce said. “The evidence that got him arrested.”

“Bingo,” said Spoiler.

“The evidence that got thrown out,” Barbara added.

“Not because of anything I did. That was Harley Quinn.” She let out a sigh and pulled down her hood and removed her mask. “I’m not getting out of here any time soon, am I? It’s so stuffy in that thing. How do you stand it? Oh wait. Question asked, question answered.” Underneath the mask she looked to be about Cissie’s age, fair-skinned with platinum blond hair, gray eyes, and a small upturned nose.

“How old are you?” Bruce asked.

“Seventeen,” she said.

Dick snorted.

“Or eleven. One of those. Take your pick.”

“You’re a child,” Bruce said.

“Yeah, unlike the wise old Batgirl, Robin, and Miss Miniskirt over there.”

“Hey!” Cissie shouted.

Barbara turned. The other girls and Wally were all standing just outside of the room, eavesdropping. They disappeared with a look from Bruce, though.

“This isn’t open for discussion,” Bruce said. “I’m not running a training academy for children who want to play games.”

“Oh, shoot.” Spoiler snapped her fingers. “And here I got all dressed up thinking it was Parcheesi night.”

Bruce glowered.

Barbara hadn’t believed it before, but compared to this reception, the one he’d given her had been positively giddy. Dick was right; Bruce really _did_ like her.

“Okey doke then. I’m leaving. I didn’t ask to come here anyway. I saw an opportunity to do some good and I did it. I’m not going to apologize. So there!” She stuck her tongue out at Bruce, then headed for the Zeta-Beam. She paused outside it. “How do I work this thingy? This button?”

“Don’t touch anything!” Dick shouted, running after her.

“She’s not going to listen to you,” Barbara told Bruce.

“I know,” Bruce said, clearly annoyed. “I’m afraid by giving you approval to carry on with your activities, I’ve opened the floodgates.”

Barbara frowned. “It’s really mature of you to want to blame this on me, but the timeline doesn’t track. I didn’t become Batgirl until _after_ Arthur Brown had been arrested and released.”

Bruce shook his head. “Someone’s going to get themselves killed.”

“In fairness to her, we’ve barely even _seen_ her until now,” Barbara said. “That means she must be good at stealth. She only intervened tonight to help me.”

“You’re a good judge of these things. Tell me, Barbara. In what disciplines has she trained? Wushu? Karate? Capoeira?”

“I think she studied at the school of Eleven-Year-Old Girls With No Muscle Mass Scream and Tackle Big Guys and Hope For the Best From There.”

“Then you see my point.”

“You could train her.”

He gave her a look that communicated eloquently what he thought of that particular idea.

She held up her hands. “Fine. I’m just saying, from what I’ve seen, Gotham could use more people who give a damn, not fewer.” She turned on her heel to go find Bette. She was tired and wanted to go home.

“Oh. By the way.” She paused in the doorway, half-turning back to Bruce. Something in the back of her mind had clicked, the recollection of something in Arthur Brown’s police file. It might have been a leap, but to her it felt like Occam’s razor. “That girl. I think her name is Stephanie. Stephanie Brown. Arthur Brown’s daughter.”


	13. Malfunction

**HAPPY HARBOR, RHODE ISLAND  
FEBRUARY 15, 10:18 EST**

“Karen?”

Karen jumped, covering the doodles and equations she was working out in the margins of her Spanish worksheet. “Oh,” she said, realizing she wasn’t in trouble; _el profesor_ just had a call slip for her. Which, of course, could also mean she was in trouble, but Karen was actually a pretty good student when her teacher wasn’t Batman.

She put her things in her bag and took the slip, which only stated that she was to go to the front office immediately. “Homework is chapter twelve, questions one through twenty,” the teacher told her before she could leave.

Shoot. She was hoping he’d forget to mention it.

Mal caught her eye on the way out, but she shrugged. She honestly had no idea what the call slip could mean.

“Oh, yes, Karen,” the front office secretary said when she handed the slip to him. He raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “A representative from MIT is here to speak with you _personally_.”

Karen’s heart leapt. MIT was her dream school. She’d known she was going to study there since she was four years old, but she had only dreamed that they would single her out personally to—

She stopped on her way to the empty office the secretary had indicated. She was only a sophomore. She had no doubts that she had what it took to be an MIT student, but would they really come to speak with her personally… before she’d even taken the ACT? _Alert, alert!_ something in her brain said.

 _MIT, MIT!_ the rest of it maintained.

She stepped inside the office.

There was a woman sitting in a chair with her back to the door. She had short dark hair and a charcoal gray business suit. “Come in, sit down,” she said without turning.

Karen walked around to the seat opposite. As soon as she saw the woman’s face, she recognized her: Scandal Savage.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to fight,” Scandal said, holding up her hands, presumably to show Karen that her wrist-mounted blades weren’t in attendance.

Of course, Scandal had regenerative powers and superior combat abilities, so she was still dangerous unarmed. Karen remained standing.

“I promise, I’m only here to talk,” Scandal insisted.

“We can talk like this,” Karen said. She didn’t want to make a scene, but she wasn’t going to make herself any more vulnerable than she already had.

“All right. You’re smart not to trust me.”

“Oh, gosh, thanks for that compliment. I had a real hard time picking up on the subtle cues, but I think it clicked when you tried to shish-kabob me, Wolverine.”

“Did it never occur to you that perhaps I pulled my punches? That perhaps I let you win?”

“Did it never occur to you that perhaps that line is _seriously_ clichéd?” Karen sure as hell _hoped_ Scandal hadn’t been pulling her punches. She’d taken one across the jaw and it had _hurt_. But she wasn’t going to say that out loud.

Scandal probably knew anyway. “Oh, we certainly would have liked to get our hands on you and the suit, but it was no loss to us that you escaped that night. As you can see, we can track you down any time we like.”

“Why wait this long, then?”

“We had word from one of our… associates that you’ve been making a nuisance of yourself lately,” Scandal explained.

“Hm, wonder who that could possibly be.” Karen tapped her chin in faux-thought.

“I’ll level with you, Karen. We reconsidered our position and decided that you’d be a more valuable asset to us alive.”

“Wow, thanks. Also, who exactly is ‘we’? Tell me you’re not using the royal we, because if so, I am out of here.”

Scandal ignored her. “You’ve seen us in combat. You know that you have no real chance of defeating us, and that we’ll only keep coming back. Don’t you think it would be better if you just gave us a chance?”

“I can only be grateful at this moment that there’s no way you’re going to follow that up with ‘I am your father.’ Look, lady, I appreciate the offer and all, but we just don’t happen to be on the same side of things.”

Scandal leaned forward. “Really? Because you are so chummy with Batman?”

“Hardly. But Bats is, objectively, a good guy.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘objectively good.’ From my point of view, he’s a very bad guy.”

Karen sighed. Great. She had to get an existentialist for a villain. “And your dad’s such a good guy?”

“He’s not relevant to this conversation. Here’s my offer: we have state-of-the art technology. It might even be better than whatever Batman has supplied you with. You would be a full-time lab rat if that’s what you wanted. No good, no bad, just science.”

“Is this the part where I sign a contract in my own blood?”

“I’m sensing some cynicism.”

“I’m gonna be honest—if I assume you’re on the level, which, let’s be real, how can I be sure, it sounds like a sweet deal. And I’m not looking forward to being hounded by you forever. But the answer’s no. And actually, I’m smart enough that I’ll probably come up with some way to shake you off eventually, even if I have no idea what it might be right now.”

“You’re more vulnerable than you realize. I could, for example, threaten your family.”

Karen’s hands clenched into fists. “Lady, you do _not_ want to do that.”

“You’re right; I don’t. It’s cowardly and I’d rather not have to force you. See? I’m not the bad guy.”

“Still gonna have to disagree with you on that point. And also say no.”

Scandal sighed and stood up. “I was afraid you might. You know that I’m going to have to try to take you with me, right? We’re going to win eventually. You should save us and yourself a lot of time and just come of your own free will. You’ll be treated better as well.”

“Pass.”

Scandal didn’t waste any more breath on talking; she swung for Karen.

Karen was ready for it and dodged, but she knew she wasn’t going to keep _that_ up for very long. She was going to have to test out her new feature before she was sure it was ready, which really annoyed her. She hit the button, mentally chanting, _please let this work, please let this work, please let this work_.

Suddenly, everything around her grew enormous, which was not at all the effect she’d been going for. She’d been hoping for invisibility. Then she realized everything else wasn’t bigger—she’d gotten _tiny_.

Karen blinked down at the ground, where her clothes lay in a heap. “Well… good enough for now, I guess.” She easily slipped around Scandal and out the open office door.

She headed for the locker rooms, since her gym clothes were the only other ones she happened to have on campus. Plus, Kara should have been in PE by that time, so two for the price of one.

The girls were in the gym playing volleyball. Karen perched on the bleachers, out of sight—she was tiny, but not microscopic—and said just loudly enough to be audible to, she hoped, someone with enhanced Kryptonian hearing, “Kara? Kara, I need your help. Scandal Savage is here.”

Kara whipped her head toward the sound of Karen’s voice, though she still managed to catch the ball that would have otherwise hit her in the head. (Unfair.)

“I just got my period!” Kara announced, spiking the ball back over the net before dashing off.

Karen put her face in her palm. She really was going to have to teach Kara about subtlety at some point.

Kara headed into the locker room and Karen flew after. On the way she repeatedly jammed her thumb against the button, but it didn’t seem to be working.

“Not good,” she muttered.

“You are… itty bitty,” Kara said, reaching out a finger to poke her as if unsure she was real.

Karen dodged it. “Yeah. It’s kind of a… malfunction, I guess, all though for the time being it’s useful. Assuming I can reverse it at some point. Okay, Karen, focus. Listen, I don’t know if Knockout or anybody else is here, but Scandal definitely is. She’s pretty much pinky-promised to keep after me until either I agree to work for her or she pressgangs me into it some other way. Or, I guess, one of us is dead, and unfortunately, against her, I don’t like my odds. I don’t know if she was expecting me to have the suit on, but she definitely wasn’t expecting this little trick, which I know for a fact because I wasn’t expecting it either, so for the moment, she doesn’t know where I am. And… I guess it won’t be too hard to stay hidden.” She hit the button a few more times, but still nothing. “Right. I think I need to get out of here.”

“Is it all right for you to be… _truant_?”

“No, but I don’t really have much of a choice, do I? I don’t know if I’m going to be able to work the Zeta-Beam like this, so…”

“You need me to come with you.” Kara nodded. “All right. We can go out through the window.”

“Actually… can you do me another huge favor and swing by the front office to pick up my stuff? Like my clothes and everything? It kind of all… fell off, and I couldn’t exactly grab it.”

Kara chewed her thumbnail. “Well, I have a feeling that’s going to be a bit more awkward, but I’m Kara Zor-El. I’m sure I’ll figure something out! Let’s go.”

As soon as they left the locker room, they nearly ran smack into Mal.

“Kara, have you seen Karen?”

Karen peered around Kara’s hair, trying to stay hidden. Mal sounded frantic. That’s when she realized he had something in his hands: her clothes.

“Mal, what’s the… matter?” Kara said a little too jauntily.

“Karen got called out of class to go the front office, so I went by there during passing period to ask what it was about, and she was gone, but all her things were still there, including her clothes! What the hell could have happened to her?”

“Oh, gosh, um… I… have no idea…” Kara fidgeted awkwardly.

Mal eyed her. “Are… you all right? Do you know something about what’s going on? Please, you gotta tell me if you know anything!”

“Mal, chill out,” Karen said, emerging from her hiding place. She couldn’t stand it another minute. “I’m fine. Relatively speaking.”

Mal’s eyes were huge, even by Karen’s readjusted standards of hugeness. “Karen? You have got to be screwing with me.”

“I wish I was, boo. It’s a long story, and I promise I’ll explain it to you later. For now, Kara and I have to go. There’s somebody here who’s kind of… after me?”

Mal clenched his jaw. “Who? Where are they?”

“No, Mal, don’t. It’s okay. Or… it will be. I _swear_ I will call you later and let you know what’s going on. Or… Kara will, if I can’t dial my phone.”

“This… is weird,” Mal said, which about summed it up. “Is there really nothing I can do?”

“Actually… there is something. You can call my parents after school and let them know I’m all right and I’ll be in touch as soon as I can,” Karen told him. “Since I’m sure they’ll be getting a phone call saying I’m not in class soon. If they try to give you crap, just… I don’t know. Tell them whatever you feel like telling them. Be vague or tell them everything, whatever works. Can you do that for me?”

“Uh… yeah,” said Mal. “And I’ll be sure to call rather than turn up in person because I don’t want to be near your mom if she thinks I’m up to some kind of funny business.”

“You read my mind.” She flew over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, boo. I’m really sorry about all this. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.”

Kara took Karen’s things from Mal, then the two of them flew out through the locker room window.


	14. Enough

**MOUNT JUSTICE, RHODE ISLAND  
FEBRUARY 15, 14:53 EST**

When Cissie arrived at Mount Justice for her afternoon sessions with Artemis and Black Canary, she was not expecting to find that Karen had shrunk down to six inches tall. Really, she had not seen that coming. But that’s what was there, with Wally, Kara, and Superman puzzling over the problem.

“Where’s Traya?” Wally asked her.

“Hello to you too,” Cissie said. “Traya had schoolwork she needed to work on. I can go get her if you need her though, I guess.”

Wally waved a hand. “No, that’s all right.” He turned back to the others and said something about microwaves and _The Matrix_ and polar bears and she really had no idea what he was saying, actually.

She turned to Karen. “I know this is probably a silly question, but Karen, why are you tiny?”

“Oh, you know,” Karen said, “I just woke up this morning and went, ‘Hmm. You know what the world needs more of? People in bee costumes that are the size of actual bees.’ Sadly I was not able to achieve my goal.”

Cissie held up her hands. “Translation: Cissie, beat it. I gotcha.”

Robin and Barbara arrived via the Zeta-Beam then, and Barbara immediately jumped in to help, as if this was the kind of thing she had to deal with every day. Find a pair of matching socks, make sure not to forget any homework, help the tiny shrunken friend.

“Hey,” Wally said suddenly, “what about the Atom? Doesn’t he have experience with this sort of thing?”

“He was the first person I thought of,” Superman said. “But he’s on sabbatical. I’ve got people trying to get in touch with him as we speak. Don’t worry, Karen. If anybody can help you out, it’s him.”

Karen folded her tiny arms over her tiny chest. “ _I_ could help me out, but all my tools are bigger than my body right now. This is so bogus. If I’m gonna be stuck like this for a while, I… guess I better go home and explain it to my parents.”

Superman nodded. “That would be best. I’d be willing to escort you, if you’d like.”

“That might be helpful because… uh… fun fact, I never told them anything in the first place,” Karen said sheepishly.

Superman frowned like a disapproving schoolmaster.

“Yeah. Guess it just… slipped my mind? Whoops?”

There was a beeping noise. “Oh!” Robin said, realizing it was coming from his pocket. “Spoiler alert.” He pulled out a small electronic device that could have been anything from an explosive about to go off to an mp3 player for all Cissie knew.

“What’s that?” Barbara asked, peering at it. “Wait… you put a GPS on Spoiler?”

“Slipped it in her belt,” he said. “It’s been stationary since the night she was here, which means whatever she’s been up to, she hasn’t been wearing it. But it’s on the move now.”

“Graduate with honors from the Batman School of Creeping on Little Girls, I see,” Barbara said, shaking her head. “You do your papa proud.” She snatched the GPS out of his hands before he could react. “I’ll follow her, see what she’s up to.”

“I’ll go as well,” Kara said. “In case you run into trouble.”

Cissie sighed. “All right. I’m in too. Where’s Bette?”

“Kickboxing, I think,” Barbara said. “Or aikido. Or… black berets. I honestly don’t know. The three of us should be enough, though. It’s probably nothing.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Robin protested.

“Don’t worry, we won’t need you,” Barbara said. “Come on, girls.”

* * *

**BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS  
FEBRUARY 15, 15:11 EST**

“You didn’t seem that surprised to hear from me.”

Kate set the cup of tea down on the table in front of Bette. “I was more surprised it took you so long.”

“Oh. Well. You know how it is. Been busy.” Bette gave a careless half-shrug.

Of course, the truth was one part that she didn’t want to bother Kate, one part that she was hoping Kate would call _her_.

“Same,” Kate said.

Bette didn’t miss the pointedness of that statement. _I’ve got a lot to do, Betty; what do you want?_

“I want you to come back to Gotham City,” she blurted out without further ado.

“Uh.” Kate sat back in her armchair. “The sentiment is nice and all, but in case you hadn’t noticed, I do have a life here. I’m not just going to pick up and move to another state on a whim. It’s called having responsibilities.”

“Another state? It’s not across the country. It’s just a few hours down the expressway. And it’s your home.”

“ _This_ is my home, Betty.”

“I don’t mean right this second, obviously,” Bette pressed on. “I just… I just wanted it to be something that you think about. As an option. To do. In the future. At some point. Perhaps.”

“Betty, I don’t think you quite understand how real life works. I know for you it’s always been about flitting from one thing to the next whenever you feel like it, but not everyone can or _should_ be so flakey. I like the life I have here with Renee. I like my job and my friends and Boston. There’s no reason for me to go back to Gotham.”

“What about me?” Sometimes Bette hated her own lack of filter.

Kate didn’t respond, just sipped her tea and watched Bette steadily.

“I miss you, okay? I’ve missed you ever since you left. Every time I get a ribbon or a trophy or whatever, the one person I want to show it to is _you_. You’re the only person who ever cared and you were my best friend and it’s not the same without you. It never will be.”

“Betty, I want you to stop and think about what you just said. Basically, you’re asking me to make my life revolve around you.”

Bette didn’t know what to say to that. That wasn’t what she had meant at all.

“I know that in our family, self-absorption is practically genetic. You have to be invested in yourself because nobody else will be. Unfortunately for you, I got it too. So, the answer is no.”

“You won’t even think about it?”

Kate shook her head.

“Okay.” Bette stood up. Her words were clipped as she spoke. “Sorry I’ve been such a nuisance. I’ll leave now.”

“There you go again, taking everything so personally. It’s not always about you, Betty. That’s my whole _point_. That having been said, what I’m going to tell you next _is_ about you. The superhero thing? You need to stop it.”

Bette blinked. “What?”

“It’s time for you to grow up. You’re too old for dress-up. If you’re only trying to get attention, this is not the way to do it.”

Bette was aghast. “I’m not—it’s not because I want _attention_. I do it because I _like_ it. And this may come as a shock to you, but I’m good at it. I’m not going to replace Batman any time soon, but I can help people on my own terms. You don’t get to tell me what to do, Katie. You gave up that right when you left. Goodbye.”

She left then, not wanting to hear anything else Kate had to say.


	15. Recovery

**GOTHAM CITY, CONNECTICUT  
FEBRUARY 15, 15:13 EST**

The address was a bus station; the key belonged to a locker inside. Stephanie Brown had no idea what might be in the locker. All she knew was that her mother was supposed to pick it up.

When Stephanie had gotten home from school, her mother had been sacked out on the couch, an empty pill bottle on the coffee table. Pretty much the typical sight for one of Crystal Brown’s days off. The letter was sitting nearby, open but apparently forgotten. There was no return address, no postmark, only the letter and the key.

The letter gave the address and the locker number. _Retrieve contents and keep safe for A. Courier will arrive to pick up on 2/17._

 _A_. Arthur, as in Arthur Brown, her father. Stephanie was pretty certain he was still in prison—leaving letters in the mailbox with directions for his over-medicated wife was not exactly his style. That meant it had to be from one of his “associates,” who, quite frankly, were a lot more dangerous than he was.

So that was why Stephanie had decided to go pick up the mysterious item herself, leaving her mother asleep on the couch. Before she left, she slipped the tracking device back into her belt. She’d found it the night it had been planted on her and had left it buried in her sock drawer ever since. For a while she’d considered catching a pigeon or a stray cat or something and attaching it to it. She could just imagine the scene back at the little secret club-cave: “Hm. Looks like she’s headed to Brazil for the rest of the winter.”

She probably would have resented it more if she hadn’t found it right away; as it was, she could only find it kind of hilarious. She had continued to go out on her regular nightly patrols (foiling a liquor store robbery and two muggings), the tracking device back at home like she was behaving herself.

Because really, there was no way she was going to give it all up. The vigilante thing had only started out as a desire to spoil her father’s plans, but she found she really _liked_ it. It was fun and satisfying, and it made her feel, for the first time in her life, like she was in control of something. Of her own destiny, even. She wasn’t just the daughter of Arthur Brown, criminal, abuser, and ne’er-do-well; she was _the Spoiler_ , crime-fighting hero in a snazzy suit of eggplant. Batman wasn’t the boss of her or of Gotham. There was a place for her and for the Spoiler, whatever he said.

Of course, that didn’t mean she was completely above asking for backup. Involving Batgirl and the others in her family drama was the absolute _last_ thing she wanted to do, but she wasn’t going to take any chances if there was a possibility her mother was in any kind of danger. As mad as she was at Crystal sometimes, she still would never forgive herself if anything bad happened to her because of Arthur. She could only hope that if she was walking into something dangerous, someone would be monitoring her progress and track her down.

There were no costumed crime-fighters at the bus station when she got there, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She found the locker and opened it, half-expecting a bomb to go off, even if that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. But the door swung open and nothing exploded.

Inside was a small box, about four inches cubed, marked FRAGILE. Another letter, similar in appearance to the one that had arrived at their apartment, was attached to the top. _DO NOT OPEN UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. YOU AND YOUR FAMILY WILL SUFFER OTHERWISE._

Stephanie stared at the box in her hands. Giving an eleven-year-old a mysterious box and telling them not to open it was like giving an eleven-year-old a cake and telling them not to eat it or… well, really anything involving an eleven-year-old and impulse control. It said FRAGILE, but she gave it the slightest of shakes.

It sounded like there was something hard inside, probably wrapped in packing paper. The box itself wasn’t very heavy. Really, she had no idea what it could be. She was always terrible at this game come Christmas, when there were presents to be guessed, anyway. She was always really hoping that that tiny flat box that actually contained an ugly itchy sweater might, _just might_ , have a pony inside. As far as she was concerned, it was never definite until she actually opened the box.

 _Open the box, Stephanie,_ the little devil on her shoulder said.

 _Yeah, do it! Open the box!_ the little angel on the other shoulder agreed.

Well, if they were in agreement on her next course of action, surely that meant it was the right one. Not in the bus station, though.

She hurried outside and slipped into the alleyway behind the building. It was still early enough in the day that alleys weren’t quite creepy danger factories, all though that was relative, as she _was_ in Gotham. Still, a cursory look around told her it was deserted, unless someone was actually _in_ the dumpster, in which case they deserved to get the drop on her, because that was hardcore.

She ripped open the box without a further thought, then pushed away the paper to uncover a round glass bottle. She held it up to the light. It was filled with… smoke? _Was she holding a genie?_

“What’s that?”

Stephanie jumped, nearly dropping the bottle. That would have been a real knee-slapper. Fortunately she kept her grip on it.

Standing beside her were Batgirl and Supergirl. Just behind them was the Miniskirt Archer. She’d almost completely forgotten she was willingly allowing herself to be tracked.

“My new crystal ball, special-ordered from Bridgeport, so you know it’s legit,” Stephanie told Batgirl, who’d asked the question.

“Wait a minute,” Miniskirt said suddenly, pushing her way past the others and reaching for the bottle. “Let me see that.”

Stephanie pulled it out of her reach. “Hey, Grabby-Hands, you could at least try asking permission. What’s the magic word?”

“Abraca-gimme.”

“What are you all doing here, anyway?” Stephanie asked, as if she didn’t know.

“We’ve had professional creeper training from the master himself,” Batgirl said. “But really. You’ve got to admit, standing in a back alley opening a box you got from a bus locker? Not exactly the kind of thing that screams ‘wholesome eleven-year-old activity.’”

Stephanie weighed her options. She could try to repackage the box like it had never been opened and deliver it to the courier in two days.

Or, she could figure out what the bottle was and why her father’s associates wanted it, and deal with the consequences when the time came.

“I don’t know what this is,” she admitted at last. “But we can find out together, if you’ll agree to help me. This isn’t an ordinary bottle.”

“I’m not kidding. Hand it over, or at least open it,” Miniskirt said, getting a little angry, which Stephanie found a bit rich.

“I’m not going to open it until I know what it is.”

“You’ll see what it is if you open it!”

“Duck season, wabbit season, will you hold onto your Bedazzled britches? I shouldn’t have even opened the _box_. There’s something you don’t know.”

“Let me guess: it’s supposed to be for your father, Arthur Brown,” Batgirl said.

“Oh… kay, or it’s something you _do_ know.” Stephanie tucked the bottle carefully back into the box.

“Listen, Stephanie—Spoiler—whatever you want to call yourself, I’m here to make you an offer. Do you want proper training? You know, self-defense and combat and utility belt widgets?”

Stephanie blinked. Batgirl was just full of surprises. “What, are you trying to tell me Batman’s offering to accept my existence?”

“Not exactly,” Batgirl said. “But I am.”

“Me too,” Supergirl said.

“Will you people _listen_ to me?” Miniskirt burst out, literally stomping her foot. “Whoever’s supposed to take that bottle can’t have it!”

“Are you saying you know what’s in it?” Batgirl asked.

“Not what, _who_. I’m pretty sure it’s a friend of mine. Greta.”


End file.
